


Foresight

by rytan451



Series: Downfall [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divination, Obliviation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 28,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rytan451/pseuds/rytan451
Summary: A system based on secrecy is inherently unstable: three can keep a secret — if two are dead.  That's not exactly true in the magical world.  There are things like compulsions and Obliviations.  Even if major Obliviation is really kinda like killing someone...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rewrite in progress. I'll do my best to make the plot consistent, even as I replace chapters. However, tone may change, as I've changed as a writer.
> 
> Status: Chapters 1-4 updated.

My family had always said that I’m strong in the Force. I wish.

For one, I'd love to have a lightsaber – and telekinesis. Alas, perhaps the best way to illustrate what I really have would be the end of _Star Wars IV – A New Hope_ , when Luke Skywalker blows up the Death Star. I get bursts of intuition, which, one way or another, tend to work out well for me.

That said, these bursts of intuition give me a headache – or, in one rather bad case, a badly bleeding nose – so it wasn't really like the Force from _Star Wars_.

That's me in a nutshell: William Anderson, wannabe Jedi, using a painfully flawed knockoff version of the Force.

And at that moment, the wannabe Jedi was having a headache.

"You alright?" Katherine, my sister, asked.

"Headache," I grumbled.

It throbbed with the beat of my heart, and the grind of gravel under the wheels of our car was of no help. What seemed like an hour later, we reached the end of the hundred yard long gravel drive and stopped.

"I'm heading inside first," I said in the sudden silence.

I pushed open the car door, my feet finding firm ground outside the car.

As the garage door ground open, I ducked inside. I kicked off my shoes and entered the laundry room. Ahead of me was the door to the house proper.

I glanced behind, at the door to the garage, before advancing towards my home.

A premonition hit me, and I paused. 

One. Two. Thr— There!

I pushed the door open, the sudden movement startling the cat and sending him streaking back into the house.

Finally, my headache started to lessen. Rather than red-hot nails hammering into my skull, it was now merely needles piercing through my eyes.

The typical day in the life of William Anderson: headaches, but hey, at least the cat didn't escape!

I took a few steps before collapsing into the couch, my bags lying ignored by the doors.

For the past month or so, these headaches had gone from mild twinges to crippling pounding. Somehow, I got the feeling that something big would be happening in the next week or so.

Something big and bad.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The sun was still bright, especially since it was summer. The windows let in loads of light. So much light, in fact, that it hurt my eyes.

I rubbed my forehead and eyes for a second, then let my arms fall to my sides.

It was still early, but I couldn't be bothered to move

My head ached, and I felt a falling sensation.

I jolted upright, my eyes popping open.

I was greeted by the familiar sight of the walls of my room, illuminated by scarce moonlight.

I must have had fallen asleep on the couch, and Dad carried me to bed and tucked me in.

Blearily, I glanced at the clock on the wall, before lying back in bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As the week went on, it felt like iron bands had started constricting around my chest. I jumped at every shadow, spun to every sound. So nervous I was, that when my headache abruptly ceased, I didn't notice for an hour.

Katherine, observant as she was, noticed first, that I hadn't winced as badly as usual when we had exited the library into the bright noon daylight.

"You feeling better?" she asked.

I shouldered my bag of books, my eyebrows drawing together.

"Yes, actually."

A second of thought later, I added, "I don't even feel the headache at all!"

A couple of passersby gave me odd looks, but we continued walking, myself, Katherine, and Mom chatting no quieter.

Soon, we reached our car. Mom opened the trunk, and I set my bag of books inside. I took Katherine's bag next, while Mom placed her own two bags.

The trunk now half filled, we closed it and entered the car. The engine started, and set off.

"So your headache is gone," Mom said, "and nothing untoward happened."

"Yet," I grumbled. "I won't be sure until the day's over.

The car made a left.

"Don't be so pessimistic," Katherine said, careful to pronounce the word properly.

After all, since I had mispronounced vocabulary as "voclablablary" last year, she still hadn't let me live it down. I wasn't about to be any nicer to her.

"That's new vocabulary," Mom said, and Katherine and I burst into laughter.

Eventually, we made the right off the paved roads and onto gravel. Trees surrounded the road.

Unlike last week, I had no headache for the grind of gravel to acerbate.

That night, I sat on the couch, gazing off into the night. The stars were barely visible, but the moon shone bright. As I watched through the window, wisps of mist crept from the forest into our backyard. My eyelids drooped as the mist slowly obscured the moonlight. It slowly thickened.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight, and then the day would be over.

 _Tick_ , went the clock. _Tick tick_.

The minute hand slid to zero, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The day was over, and nothing untoward had happened. 

I stood, walking to my room. I lay in bed, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke with a headache, and the only thing I could think was, _I thought I was over that!_ Immediately, I could tell something was wrong.

My bed was most definitely not that hard.

I opened my eyes to find a grey sky meeting me.

Buildings were on either side of me, rising up maybe a couple levels. I was in a dirty alleyway, surrounded by trash bins.

In short, a nightmare.

A quick look at my watch supported that theory. I had read that numbers were inconsistent in dreams, and these sure were. With the sky as bright as it was, there was no way it was 4:41 AM.

I pushed myself off the ground, getting to my feet. My clothes, unchanged since yesterday, were dusted with dirt, and I brushed it all off.

Usually, I didn't sleep in jeans and a tee shirt, nor did I stay up till midnight, but that night I had been so nervous that when midnight came, I simply collapsed and started having this remarkably vivid dream.

My jeans thus cleaned, I stumbled out of the alley, and began wandering the streets. I gravitated towards the more developed areas, and soon I found myself in a busy shopping district.

Something caught my eye: a grimy restaurant on the otherwise pristine street. Glancing inside, more things caught my eye.

_Definitely a dream_ , I thought when I say one guy stirring a cup of coffee with a spoon while reading _A Brief History of Time_. He wasn't touching the spoon. 

As I watched, he lifted his cup and took a sip.

I stepped inside, and things went stranger. A large man, and I don't mean fat: he had to be twice as tall and five times as wide as my dad.

On second thought, he might be the tiniest bit overweight.

As I watched, he and a small boy entered a back door. Curious, I looked through the doorway. Nothing. Just an empty space, a single trash bin, and a brick wall with a hole. As I watched, the brick wall shifted, bricks moving into place to cover the hole.

One last brick slid into place, and mortar filled the cracks. A second later, the wall could have been any other brick wall.

I looked around. Unless the comically large man could have fit in the trash bin (and, in a fit of curiosity, I lifted the lid to check), there was no place they could have gone except through the wall.

_Since it was a dream,_ I thought, _dream logic applies_.

I placed my hand on the last brick to fit in place, and said in a loud voice, "Open!"

The brick shifted, then moved backward. More bricks rippled, like a pond with a pebble dropped in the center. Then, they twisted, and an archway through the wall appeared.

Eyes wide, I walked through.

It was beautiful.

Children laughed as they chased a floating ball of viridian sparks. People stood behind floating tabletops, selling all sorts of items. Through the window of what could only be a bookshelf, books floated themselves into the air, sorting themselves on the bookshelves.

A street performer with a vibrant blue cape and a tall top hat juggled seven wooden rods. Around him, a collection of nine flat stone disks rose into the air. He stepped on them, still juggling the pins. Then, one dropped past him. He caught it with the arch of his foot, hurling it high into the air, and he struck another rod against a stone disk.

It burst into flame, before being hurled back into the air.

A second rod struck against another disc, and ignited into blue flame. A third burst into green flame, and a fourth, purple.

Finally, he threw all seven into the air, before directing seven of his nine discs to intercept the burning rods.

They exploded, flaming images forming into several short-lived images — among others, a lion, a bird, and a snake — before vanishing into black ash.

Theatrically, the man spread his hands. The ash formed in front of him, before becoming wooden rods once. He tucked them into his belt, then flicked his cape. The stone disks reformed, floating around him. 

Finally, with his hands spread, he and the disks, lowered to the ground. He stepped off the two disks under his feet, and they joined the seven floating around him. All nine spun around him, before inserting themselves one by one into his pockets.

I clapped, having watched the spectacle from a distance. 

"Good show, Eric," shouted a man in the audience, tossing a silver coin at the performer.

The performer — Eric — snatched the coin out of the air.

"Thanks, Ted," he said.

He stepped into the crowd, starting to chat. He knew all of them by name, asking about family ("Is young Nymphadora feeling better?") and all sorts of things.

At some point, his hat went around the crowd, who started dropping in silver coins. For a moment, I thought I saw a glint of gold, before Eric took the hat and lightly returned it to his head.

The coins somehow failed to fall out.

"And is this a new watcher?" wondered the man. "What's your name, young man?"

He was looking at me.

"William," I stuttered. Then, I repeated myself. "William Anderson, sir."

"Call me Eric," said the man, "with a 'C', not a 'K'. Or, if you must be so formal, you could call me 'Mr Ernest'!"

He stuck out his hand, and I nervously shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Ernest," I said. Permission aside, I was uncomfortable calling an adult by his first name.

"How old are you, young man?"

I glanced around. It was a rather public place, even though I wasn't in the habit of talking to strangers. Even dream strangers.

"Eleven, sir."

"Eleven?" he exclaimed. "Then you're going to Hogwarts come September?"

"Hogwarts?" I asked, confused.

"Come now, you've heard of Hogwarts, haven't you?"

I thought for a moment.

"No," I said.

"Oh," he said. "But it's August! How have you not gotten your letter yet?"

He paused.

"Come to think of it, how did you even get into Diagon Alley?"

"Where?" I asked.

"Here!" he said.

I shrugged.

"I just wandered in, I guess."

"That's some luck," said Mr Ernest. "Hey, Ted!"

He waved Ted over.

"Could you introduce us to young William Anderson?"

Ted nodded.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Ted Tonks, and that's Eric Ernest."

Mr Ernest sighed dramatically.

"That's not what I meant," he muttered. "Let us just walk over there:" he gestured to his right, "and have a seat."

We moved over, and I saw a bunch of chairs and a couple of tables. A folded piece of canvas lay on each table.

As we reached the table, an owl landed on my head. Its claws dug into my scalp, drawing blood, before a red blast of light hit it and it flew off to the side.

I was shocked, more shocked than the pain should have caused. It was in that moment that I realised with sudden certainty that I was not dreaming. I stumbled back.

"Are you alright?" asked Ted.

Mr Ernest was holding a stick, pointing it above my head where the owl had landed. As I watched, his arm fell to his side.

"That is unusual," said he. "I have never seen an owl attack anyone unprovoked."

I shook my head, as if to clear fog. My gaze dropped to the owl, and I touched my scalp. My hand came away with a couple drops of blood.

"I'm fine," I said distantly. "It just helped me realise something, that's all."

I looked at my watch. 5:07AM. 

I bent over, retrieving a letter, still clutched in one of the owl's talons.

Turning it over, I saw a red wax seal: a stylised "H" over a shield.

My thumb slipped under the flap and cracked the seal.

"Dear Mr Anderson," I read, having pulled out the letter. "We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I glanced up.

"I think I'd like to send a response. Do you have—"

Mr Ernest removed his top hat, reached inside, and retrieved a long… something.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's a quill," explained Ted. "Wizards use it to write."

I frowned. "I thought that quills were feathers," I said.

"Pure fabrication from mug— non-magic folk," Ted said. "Sure, they're made from feathers, but you usually cut off all the barbs — the things on the sides — before you ever start using them."

I nodded thoughtfully, taking the quill in my right hand. Mr Ernest extended a hand, holding a glass container of ink.

"Thanks," I muttered.

He passed a sheet of…

"Is that parchment?" I asked. "It feels different than I expected."

"Yes. It's animal skin, like leather," Ted explained again. "You wouldn't be able to rip or burn it."

I took the parchment and set it on the table. Ted sat awkwardly on the other side, while Mr Ernest walked off.

My first attempts at writing with a quill went terribly. They were splotchy, uneven, and more or less illegible. Eventually, though, with a few tips from Ted, I managed to write my letter, wait for it to dry, and roll it up.

I glanced at the owl on the table. Or rather, the lack of owl on the table.

"Where did the owl go?" I asked, placing my hands on the table.

Ted shrugged, but my question was answered when the owl appeared out of nowhere, snatched the letter, and vanished once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of a breaking branch cut through the chatter of the crowd. I jolted, nearly sending the ice cream Mr Ernest had bought for me to the ground. Ted, similarly eating an ice cream and talking to the owner of the shop, Florean Fortescue, barely glanced up.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," he said.

"How many times do I have to tell you," said the severe-looking woman in a mild Scottish accent, "that you may call me Minerva now that you've graduated?"

"At least once more," Ted responded. "It'd always feel odd calling my old Transfiguration professor by her first name."

"Thank you for taking care of my prospective student," said Professor McGonagall to Ted and Mr Ernest.

She glanced at me, a single eyebrow raised.

"Shall I bring you to Hogwarts? Where are your parents?"

"At home," I said. Then, I muttered, "I still can't believe I'm in Britain."

"Where else would you be?" she asked.

"At home, in America."

"I thought you should be the one to tell him," Ted added.

Professor McGonagall paused.

"Ah. You'd best finish your ice cream."

~~~~~~~~~~~

I straightened, keeping a tight hold on my queasiness. The forest, misty in the morning, spun around me. A carriage with straps in floating in midair stood just besides Professor McGonagall and myself.

"What was that?" I gasped.

"That was Apparation," said Professor McGonagall. "It is one of the fastest ways to travel with magic. It's nearly instantaneous, but it's somewhat disorienting."

I nodded, then instantly regretted it when another wave of nausea washed over me.

"It gets less… intense?" I asked.

"No, you merely gain a stronger stomach."

"Okay," I said.

Professor McGonagall climbed into the carriage, before helping me up into it. As I settled into a wooden seat, the carriage began rolling off. Despite the wheels being plain wooden wagon wheels, the ride was remarkably smooth. Probably magic, I decided.

I looked behind. Between the tracks left by the wheels, I could see the imprint of something looking kinda like horseshoes. Confused, I studied the harnesses. They were clearly attached to something, but I couldn't see it.

"Professor," I asked, "what are the things pulling the carriage?"

"You can see them?" she asked, startled.

"Am I supposed to see them?" I asked in return.

At her relieved look, I said, "I guess not. I saw hoof prints, and I'm pretty sure something is pulling the carts."

"They are called thestrals," Professor McGonagall explained. "They're carnivorous animals. If you can see them, they look like leathery emaciated horses with large bat wings."

At my confused look, she said, "Emaciated here means, 'skinny, as if starved'."

"Ah," I said. "And what how do I see them?"

"They're invisible unless you've seen death."

"Ah."

I stared at the empty space with new eyes.

Professor McGonagall sighed heavily, and I glanced at her.

"I'm afraid I have bad news."

~~~~~~~~~~~

So let me get this straight, Professor," I said.

I sitting on a padded chair inside Professor McGonagall's office at Hogwarts.

"Before being repealed in 1965, there was this 'Rappaport's Law', which prohibited marriage, friendship, and even 'unnecessary interaction' between magical and non-magical people. And even now, with that law repealed, no one without magic in America is allowed to know about magic?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall.

"Not even non-magical parents or siblings of magical people?"

"Yes."

"So you mean to say my parents — my family — they're going to get their memory wiped of me by MACUSA? It's going to be as if I never existed for them?"

In my mind, I was trying to think up a way — any way — to prevent that from happening.

"No," said Professor McGonagall. 

She took a deep breath as I sighed in relief.

"I mean to say that it has already been done."

I choked, staring at her.

"It's probably over and done with since just after you unconsciously Apparated to Britain."

_That couldn't— They can't—_

"Bullshit."

I wished with all my might that I was right. That I had not just been cut out of my family by some uncaring men in black. But even then, I knew the truth, despite how much I wished to deny it.

"I wish," sighed McGonagall.

I stared at her for a long moment, clenching my fist so tight that my nails bit into the palm of my hand.

"I— They—" I stuttered, lacking the words to express myself.

Finally, I spat out a word of profanity and bit off a second.

"Mr Anderson!" she said in a sharp tone.

"Sorry, Professor," I added.

For a moment, we sat there.

She sighed.

"It's all right, Mr. Anderson. I understand you've just lost your family. I've heard – and said – much worse, in much less trying of circumstances. Although," she added, "I would request that you avoid such language in the future."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Sorry, I– I need a moment."

We sat there in silence for a minute, as I fumed.

Finally, I stood forcefully.

"May I leave?" I asked, more assertively than was polite, but I didn't care.

"You may," said Professor McGonagall.

I turned, brushing the chair aside, and exit. The slam of the door echoed behind me as I stalked through the corridors.

For some minutes, I stalked aimlessly through the castle, letting myself get thoroughly lost.

Somehow, I found myself standing among the crenellations atop the walls, looking out at the misty landscape. The clouds obscuring the sun gave the scene a dark and somber look.

I sat leaning against a crenellation, looking at nowhere in particular.

My family was gone.

I couldn't face it.

Their memories of me, all their memories and formative experiences, gone as if it were nothing. 

I stood, looking at the dark forest.

My parents had said that they had always wanted exactly two children. No more and no less. With me gone from their thoughts, would they have a third child? A replacement for the irreplaceable?

A sudden mood took me. I channeled all the sudden anger, my despair, my aimlessness, uncertainty, frustration, into my clenched fist and punched the stone crenellation in front of me with all my might.

There was a sudden rush of sound as the crenellation blew apart. Time seemed to slow.

The castle groaned, as if in pain.

Shards of stone flew in all directions. Some hit me, solidly knocking the breath out of me, and I fell backwards, towards the open courtyard below.

The last thing I saw before my vision blacked was the wall of the castle extending out as if to catch me.

Then I hit it, and all went black.


	3. Chapter 3

My eyes fluttered open, and I immediately regretted the act.

"Ugh," I groaned, my arm weakly coming up to block the piercing sunlight.

"Awake at last, Mr Anderson?"

"Gah!" I exclaimed.

I sat up, immediately noticing the old man sitting beside me, in turquoise robes, glasses in the shape of a crescent moon, and rather high-heeled leather boots with a gleaming brass buckle.

His beard, which he had tucked into his belt, was both voluminous and white.

"You gave us all a fright, I admit," said the man. He glanced down at my right hand, and I followed his gaze.

I shifted backwards, leaning against the back of the bed, and brought my right hand up. It was wrapped in white bandages nearly up to the elbow.

My eyes flicked around, taking in the surrounding room. The walls were stone, but the large pointed arches let in golden sunlight to illuminate the room.

"Who are you?" I asked, before another, more important question came to mind. "What happened?"

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the headmaster of Hogwarts," said the man. "As for what happened, I can only guess. We know that you were up atop the walls. Then, for some reason, a crenellation exploded, knocking you off the edge of the wall and into the courtyard, before the castle caught you. But that leaves unexplained the wounds in your arm, which must heal naturally because of the latent magical residue within. What happened?"

I strained my memory, frowning.

"I— I punched a crenellation," I said slowly. "With my right arm. Then it exploded. The crenellation, not my arm," I clarified.

"I see," said Dumbledore, and I noticed for the first time a quill standing unsupported upon a roll of parchment. 

"Well," said he, "I think I now understand what had happened: accidental magic. But what could have caused it?"

As I watched, the quill jiggled, writing what Dumbledore said.

"I—"

I recalled the toxic blend of anger, hurt, and frustration that had run through me. Something of those emotions must have bled into my face, because Dumbledore straightened.

"I realised I lost my family," I said bitterly.

"My condolences," Dumbledore said heavily. "I know what it's like to lose family. The only comfort I can give is the assurance that to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."

"Which might be a comfort if they were actually dead, rather than being made to lose formative experiences and all memory of me. Even if we met on the 'next great adventure'," I said, "they still wouldn't know me."

Dumbledore looked down sadly.

"They will," he said. "Obliviation — mind-wiping — breaks in the last few moments of a person's life."

He stood, and my stomach grumbled as I shifted.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked suddenly.

I opened my mouth to answer.

"Ice cream does not count," he added.

"No," I said, smiling suddenly.

"Then you'd best head down to the Great Hall. Lunch is being made, and I'd hate to make you miss another meal."

My smile slowly faded.

"I don't suppose it would be as good as at home, would it," I said glumly.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Probably not," he sighed. 

"Probably not," I echoed hollowly.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat motionlessly on the bench in the Great Hall. A plate of food sat before me, untouched. My right forearm itched mercilessly, and I fought the urge to scratch at the bandages.

Finally, I picked up a fork, glancing down at the plate. My right hand twinged, and I dropped the fork. It clattered loudly on the table.

Sighing, I picked the fork up with my left hand, holding it clumsily. Mechanically, I poked at my food. Despite my growling stomach and how beautiful the food was, I had little appetite.

I scooped a tiny bit of food in my mouth. I chewed and swallowed, barely tasting it.

A few more scoops vanished into my mouth, and I mechanically worked my mouth.

I dropped the fork back onto the table. I rested my head on my left hand, breathing slowly and deeply.

Then I stood, wordlessly exiting. Behind me, my meal shimmered and vanished. 

I stalked the corridors of the castle, my harsh footsteps echoing against the gentle snoring of the paintings.

Wasn't it an odd thing, moving paintings? And yet, in less than a day, I was used to it.

Eventually, I found myself in a dusty room in a tower. As I watched, the dust and cobwebs rapidly vanished in a wave from the door. I absently noted the furniture: the bed, the chair, the mirror and cupboards, and the desk.

I collapsed bonelessly into the soft padded chair in front of the desk. My eyes stared, glazed, at a spot somewhere behind the wall. 

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

My fingers rapped against the hard wooden surface of the desk. 

_Tap._

My mind wandered.

_Tap._

Phantom arms wrapped around me. It was as if my parents…

_BANG._

My hands slammed flat against the wood. I sat there stock still.

I needed something to do with my hands; something to distract my mind.

As I stood, my hands wandered to my pockets. My fingers met with paper, and I pulled the item from my jeans.

It was a picture. A family picture. It depicted the four of us: Mom, Dad, Katherine and myself. Katherine and I were sitting on the tan couch, while Mom and Dad stood behind us. Pixel, our black cat, lay curled in my sister's lap.

For a moment, I gazed at the photo. I could remember when we had this took: we had just moved into our new house. The furniture was still being moved in, but we had gotten the couch and wanted to take a photo. Mrs Black, the friendly librarian who lived next door, helped us take the photo.

It was one of the rare photos with Dad in it. Usually, he was the photographer, and it was just myself and Katherine and Mom between the two of us.

This was a beautiful photo.

I threw it on the desk, and it landed face-down.

Perhaps one day, when the hurt was no longer so close, I could bear to see those four smiling faces on my desk, but it was not that day.

Nor would that day come soon.


	4. Chapter 4

"Back again, Mr Anderson?"

I repressed a jolt, then slowly turned around.

"Professor Dumbledore," I greeted.

The sound of rain was loud, and I hadn't noticed him entering.

"It's almost as if you're making this a home," he said.

I nodded sadly.

"If MACUSA's Obliviators are as effective as Professor McGonagall describes them, then this is the only place I have to live," I said.

Then a thought struck me.

"Am I even allowed to stay here?" I asked.

Dumbledore paused.

I smiled nervously.

"I remember the first time someone asked me that," he said. "It was… fifty three years ago, if I remember correctly, in 1943. A young orphan, black hair much like yours."

He paused in thought.

"Then, I was only Deputy Headmaster," he said, "and I directed the lad to speak to the Headmaster: Armando Dippet. Professor Dippet sent him back to me, and I sent him back to his orphanage in Muggle London. That very month, the orphanage burnt down.

"I did not learn of this until 1948, five years later."

"And the boy?" I asked. "He lived…"

"On the streets," said Dumbledore. "Or so I heard. In those years, his mind, already so cynical, became poisoned against mankind, and muggles as a whole. I promised myself then that for any child who asks to live at Hogwarts year-round, I would do my best to allow it. I began by allowing young Tom to stay at Hogwarts. Ever since 1968, when Professor Dippet retired and I became headmaster of this school, I have allowed every child who asks to live here."

"And I asked," I said.

"And you asked," he agreed. "And since you've claimed this room, I suppose you may keep it."

The silence quickly grew awkward.

"Can I get some books? Something— anything to read?"

"Of course," said Dumbledore, smiling. "After all, you'll need school supplies. You could buy the books — and supplies — tomorrow, at Diagon Alley."

I frowned.

"But I don't have any money," I said. "How about a library? You do have a library, right?"

"You musn't worry about money — we have a fund for students who, for whatever reason, are unable to purchase school supplies. But yes, we do have a library."

I nodded.

"Which way would the library be?" I asked.

"I'll show you," said Dumbledore, and with that, he led me out from the tower.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Excuse me?" said a sharp voice.

I closed the book, having reached the index.

"Yes, Ms Pince?" I asked.

"The library shall be closing at five o'clock, in 5 minutes time," she said.

"It's that late already?" I exclaimed, looking at a nearby window. Sure enough, the light was dimming.

I sighed.

"May I bring a book with me?" I asked.

I pulled a book from the neat row on the table at random. Nature's Nobility, I read on the cover.

"Yes," said Ms Pince, "but you have to take good care of it, and—"

She paused.

"Are you sure you want that book?" she asked. "It's rather… dry. And not exactly written by the most inclusive of authors."

"Racist?"

"Of the like. Discriminates against people like yourself."

I shrugged.

"I'm sure I'll be fine. What's a book going to do, anyways?"

Ms Pince snorted.

"And I have a good feeling about this one."

"If you're sure," she said. "We have locked all the dangerous books we could in the Restricted section, so you should be fine."

I stood, carrying my book, before glancing back at the pile of books on the table.

"Can I help you keep the books?" I asked.

"They'll be fine," dismissed Ms Pince. "Magical knowledge is alive."

I frowned.

"Alive?" I asked.

"Look at the time," she deflected. "Out! Out!"

Laughing lightly, I let her shoo me out of the library, the book in my hand. When I glanced back, the table was bare and Ms Pince was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I returned to what was now my room, closing the door gently behind me. Eagerly, I crossed the room, placing the book upon the desk.

A dry read indeed, I thought as I read the opening. As I continued to read, Ms Pince's other warning came to mind.

"Blatant propaganda, the lot of it," I dismissed, shutting the book. "Sacred Twenty-Eight? Ridiculous."

I was halfway to the door when I turned again.

Then, I sat back in my chair.

"Why do you want me to read that book?" I muttered.

I flipped it open.

"Oh."

"Seers often manifest at a young age," I read, "in only the purest of bloodlines, unstained by Muggle influence. The first signs of a seer include self-fulfilling or self-defeating predictions. Useful predictions occur later in life, though often before the age of ten. Their early life is often filled with headaches, due to unavoidable overuse of their abilities. They are unlike prophets, who make oral predictions, 'prophecies,' but cannot recall them."

That night, I slept with that realisation churning in my head.


	5. Chapter 5

I woke with the sun on my face. Shielding my eyes and yawning, I stood. Lethargically, I began pulling clothes out of my bag.

Somehow, before the day had even began, it had already been dragging on.

I pulled my clothes on, quickly checked myself, and then flipped the shirt around. That could have been embarrassing.

The sound of my footsteps echoed off the stone walls as I plodded downstairs to breakfast.

It would have been a cheery day, if not for the injustices I knew were occurring across the world. The erasure of parts of a person seemed like a penalty that would be attached to a crime like murder, not something summarily applied to anyone of a certain ethnicity who stumbled across some other person's crime.

Such thoughts kept my attention from my food, and I was completely unable to appreciate it. In fact, the only reason I was eating was because I was hungry – the food seemed to have as much flavor as cardboard.

I quickly scoffed down the tasteless food, considering what the day had in store for me. As soon as the plate was empty, and I had set down my utensils, they vanished, leaving the table empty.

"Mr. Anderson."

I looked to my right, towards the staff table.

"I promised yesterday that you will have an opportunity to purchase books today," said Dumbledore.

He stood beside Professor McGonagall, near the base of the elevated platform upon which the staff table sat.

"Professor McGonagall will escort you to Diagon Alley," he continued. "There, you will be able to purchase school supplies, and yes, books."

I nodded slowly.

"So, how will we get there?" I asked. "Are we going to use that ' _Flu_ ' thing again?"

"Indeed," answered McGonagall.

I scowled.

"I still don't get why it's named after an illness," I said. "Other than, of course, how utterly uncomfortable both of them are."

"Floo," said McGonagall. "Spelled with two 'o's, not a 'u'. And believe me," she added good-naturedly, "the alternatives are much worse."

I looked around.

"Would that fireplace work?" I wondered.

"Yes," answered McGonagall.

I blinked. Dumbledore had vanished in the scant moments I had spent reevaluating my surroundings.

McGonagall continued, "We're heading back to Diagon Alley, so throw the Floo powder into fireplace, say 'diagonally', and step into the fire. Do be quick; we wouldn't want an ashwinder to spawn!"

I blinked, frowning. She seemed to have odd pronunciations of some words.

"So, just to clarify," I said. "You want me to say 'diagonally' when I'm in the fire."

"Yes."

"And you want me to say it soon after I enter the fire, or before?"

"Either is fine."

"And if I'm slow, an ashwinder may appear."

"Yes."

"I– I'm assuming that's some sort of snake – ash color?"

"With red stripes. And it lays eggs that cause fires."

"I don't even–" I muttered, holding my head.

I took a step forwards. Then I paused.

Looking to the left, I said, "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Perfectly."

I continued forwards, grumbling, "Nothing is perfect."

The fireplace erupted into green flames.

" _Diagonally_."

~~~Break~~~

The first thing I noticed was the spinning. I was spinning rapidly, like a top. The air near my skin seemed to signal that I was in a rather cramped box – or chimney – that remained stationary while I spun.

The next thing I noticed was my weightlessness. My feet weren't resting on anything, and I seemed to be falling. Falling upwards, if the wind was any indication.

Green tongues of flame obscured my vision, twisting in front of my eyes. Open fireplaces flashed by me. Soot forced its way into my mouth, my nose, my eyes.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to flush out the dirt. My nose itched; my mouth seemed filled with ashes.

I shot through a darkened fireplace, head first.

"Ow," I said, holding my sore head. "Ow, ow, ow."

My eyes were squeezed shut, still tearing from the soot. I sneezed, curling upwards.

_Thunk_.

"Gah!"

My forehead throbbed, and more dust fell onto my face.

Carefully, I inched my way backwards, out from under whatever it was I had managed to side under.

"What," snapped a voice, startling me, "are you doing under my cabinet?"

"Ow," I moaned. My forehead throbbed from the second collision.

As I continued to inch backwards, I asked, "Sorry for bargaining in. Your cabinet. Is this your house?"

"No," he sneered. "This is my shop. And I'd very much like to know how you managed to get stuck under there without realising that."

I finally managed to extricate myself from the cabinet, and rolled over onto my front.

"And I'd like you to tell me what you were doing under my cabinet," he said.

"I–"

" _Right now!_ "

My teeth snapped together in an instant.

A moment later, I restarted my explanation.

"I got stuck under it," I explained.

" _Obviously_ ," he said sarcastically. "But why in Merlin's name did you crawl under there in the first place?"

"I slid under it. Your fireplace spat me out."

"Bloody Floo," he muttered under his breath.

A knock on the door cut him off from whatever else he would have wanted to say.

"Just a moment," he called out.

The door slammed shut with another round of chiming bells.

"Mr. Anderson, why on Earth– never mind that. Pardon me, Mr. Borgin."

And with that, she dragged me out of the shop by the ear.

The door slammed behind us.

"What were you thinking? Going down Knockturn Alley, entering Borgin and Burkes of all places?"

"Erm–” I glanced sideways at the darkened alley.

"Didn't you hear my instructions? Say 'diagonally'! Speak loudly and clearly!"

"Professor–"

"How you managed to botch this I have no idea."

"Professor!"

She stopped.

"You're the one who said that that thing was safe. How was I to know that even if I followed your instructions to the letter, I could end up in this–"

I glanced around at our grimy surroundings.

"I told you to speak clearly, not mangle your words together!" she exclaimed.

"And I did!" I shouted back. "I was even sure to get the stresses right! Diagonally. How the hell was that pronounced wrong in any way?"

" **D** iagon **A** lley. Two words!" she exclaimed, exaggerating the pause between the words.

"Was I supposed to have a Bri– Two words?"

"Yes! Two words: Diagon Alley!" she said.

"How was I supposed to know that? Nobody cared to mention it!"

We paused, suddenly realising that we were having a shouting match in the middle of a busy public area.

"Follow," McGonagall said tersely.

She turned, walking at a brisk pace. I struggled to catch up, walking behind her. The crowd seemed to avoid her.

After a minute, she stopped in a wider area and turned back to look at me.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson," she said. "Perhaps my instructions were unclear."

Then she sighed.

"This is Gringotts Bank," she said, changing the subject.

The building seemed off.

"Professor?" I began. "Is it just me, or does the building look–"

I tilted my head.

"–slanted?" I finished

She looked up at the bent pillars.

"No," she said. "It seems no different from last I visited."

We took no more than a few steps forward before I had another question.

"What are they?" I asked, looking at the armored figures at the door and keeping my voice as low as I could.

"Goblins," explained McGonagall. "Excellent bankers – the best, really. They always adhere to the letter of their agreements, and are vicious when provoked."

We took another few steps, then I read a poem off the door.

"Professor, do the goblins traditionally speak English, or do they have their own language?"

"They do have their own language – it's called Gobbledygook."

"Then why does the architecture of the bank seem to include an English poem?"

"A warning written in Gobbledygook would be incomprehensible to most humans. Beyond that, I cannot say."

It took only a few more seconds before I found something else to mention.

"Their teeth look rather sharp. I would guess that they prefer a diet of mostly meat?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "They do indeed. Their preferred meat caused a great deal of controversy – the response even caused the Goblin Rebellion of 1638."

"That much controversy?" I asked, beginning to look green. "Over their preferred type of meat? I don't think I want to know more."

"Yes," she agreed. "You don't."

Unluckily, I had a rather, shall we say, creative, imagination, and in the seconds that it took for us to cross the lobby, my mind had filled with a dozen unpleasant speculations and my countenance was decidedly ill. It was in no way helped by the sharp-toothed grin of every goblin which we passed.

After what seemed like an eternity, we halted in front of a goblin which seemed rather more elderly than those others which we had come across.

McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Minerva McGonagall and one associate to visit the Evans Trust and withdraw discretionary funds," she said clearly.

The goblin looked up from a small pile of jewels.

"Letter," it said shortly.

McGonagall pulled one from her pocket and passed it to the goblin.

It slid its sharpened claws under the seal and carefully tugged it open. After a moment looking over the letter, it turned its attention back on McGonagall.

"Identification?"

"Through wand, please."

The goblin snatched the offered wand, inspected it thoroughly, then returned it.

"And your associate? He seems to be lacking a wand; how will he be identified?"

"My _associate_ does not require identification, only for me to vouch for him. _As you very well know_."

The goblin looked almost disappointed.

"Very well. Bogrod!"

A younger goblin, who must have been Bogrod, stumbled forwards.

"Escort Minerva McGonagall and one associate to the vault of the Evans Trust."

" _Guks sat thark, thakl!_ " exclaimed the goblin, before turning to us. "Follow me."

It led us past the desk to a passageway on the right.

"Get in, and hold on _very_ tight," it said, giving a sharp grin.

I looked apprehensively at the rickety-looking cart.

"AH–"

What came next was, in a word, horrifying.

 

I hate goblins.

 

Eventually, and not a moment too soon, the cart rumbled to a halt.

I inhaled deeply, gasping for air, as Professor McGonagall and the goblin stepped out of the cart. They stood in front of the vault door.

"Well?" snapped the goblin after a moment, clearly impatient. "Are you going to get off?"

It scowled, and I grimaced inwardly at its sharp yellow teeth.

"Yes, sir," I said.

It is, after all, a good idea to present nothing but perfect manners to the scary guy with sharp teeth. Who may be a cannibal.

With shivering legs, I carefully disembarked the cart.

_FIRE. A HORNED LIZARD. CHAINS, A CUP, A SWORD, AND THE RATTLE OF FALLING METAL. THE FREEDOM OF THE SKY._

"Gah!"

McGonagall rushed to my side as I collapsed onto my elbows and knees. Her voice seemed distant, almost incomprehensible.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and took three deep breaths. Slowly, my senses returned to me. First, I noticed the gritty stone floor. Then, the warm damp breeze that wafted through the tunnels. My sight returned next, giving me a view of the pitted but still amazingly flat floor. Then finally, my hearing.

"–Anderson. Mr. Anderson!"

"Yeth?"

My tongue was numb in my mouth. I tried again.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so," I answered weakly.

I pushed myself upwards, getting to my feet. I stumbled; McGonagall caught me.

She helped balance me, concerned.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "We can go back–"

"No!"

She recoiled, shocked.

"Really, I'm fine," I insisted, continuing towards the vault door.

I stumbled again, which didn't help my case.

"Let's just withdraw the funds," I said. "I'm fine – or at least I'll be fine soon – so we can still buy the supplies."

McGonagall sighed.

"I'm in charge of your safety," she began. "I can't simply let you–"

"Professor," I insisted. "I'm fine. I've had this happen before. By the time we get back outside, I'll be back to normal."

McGonagall frowned.

"You say that this has happened before?" she asked.

"Yeah, I could get you the medical records if MACUSA hadn't–"

I thought for a moment on how I wanted to phrase the rest of the sentence.

"–hadn't gotten rid of my family," I completed morosely.

Then I noticed the goblin. It bared its sharp teeth.

I studiously averted my gaze, studying the vault door. It was big, looked heavy, was made of metal, had a great deal of flatness to it, was–

"Ahem," said McGonagall, startling me.

I quickly turned my gaze to her, but she wasn't directing her attention to me.

"Mr… Bogrod, was it? If you'd open the vault?"

The goblin curtly nodded, walked up to the vault, and laid its hand on the flat metal door. No, not on the door; it reached through the door, causing the surface to ripple like a pool of mercury. The goblin groped around for something the rippling surface, submerging its arm up to the elbow. Then, it apparently found what it was looking for, extracting its arm from the door.

The door rippled one last time, then flowed into the walls, revealing the vault inside.

I gaped at the startling display of magic.

"Professor," I said as we began to walk forwards. "Can I do that?"

The professor looked kindly downwards at my eager expression.

"Perhaps – that was goblin magic; they don't like sharing that with us, and wizards and witches haven't figured out a way to replicate that behavior."

I turned my gaze aside, disappointed.

The goblin cackled.

"Don't worry, every species of magical beings have their own secrets. Goblins are unparalleled in metalworking and gem cutting and setting. We are unparalleled in artifacting, above ground construction, and cartography."

"Cartography?" I asked, confused. Why would cartography be so useful?

"The art of map-making," clarified McGonagall. "It's more useful than you might think."

Well, that was unhelpful.

"Hmm," I replied, unconvinced.

We came to a halt in front of a wide circular crystal pedestal. Somehow, despite the darkness around, the pedestal glowed as if lit from the inside.

"What are we supposed to do?" I whispered, the sound cutting through the sudden silence.

"Step forward and lay a hand on the pedestal," answered McGonagall in a low voice. Apparently, she too had felt the atmosphere of solemnity.

In a moment, my hands laid on the pedestal, and some of the light within it seemed to condense above the pedestal, fitting itself into the shape of a small pouch.

"Go ahead, pick it up," said McGonagall.

Ever so slowly, I lifted my hands and picked up the pouch.

Satisfied, McGonagall nodded and led us out of the vault.


	6. Chapter 6

It took me only a minute to overcome my nausea from riding the goblin cart back to the surface.  In that time, any lingering weakness from my collapse in front of the vault had vanished.

"So," I said.  "Where to first?"

McGonagall considered the question for a moment.

"I think," she said, "you'd very much like to purchase your wand."

I nodded, following McGonagall's lead.

"Professor," I began.

Suddenly, an excited looking wizard appeared in front of us.

"Did you hear?" he squeaked.  "The Boy-Who-Lived was spotted at the Leaky Cauldron just two days ago!"

"Yes," said McGonagall dryly.  "That was his eleventh birthday – he was purchasing his school supplies, much like any eleven year old."

"And did you hear that–"

"That's enough, Mr. Diggle," interrupted McGonagall.  "As fascinating your story must be, I'm afraid we must be going – I am rather occupied."

She nodded at me.

"Oh, of course, Professor, of course," said Diggle, running off to tell his story to some other hapless bystander.

We continued walking towards whatever wand shop McGonagall was heading towards.

In a moment, I had found another question to replace the one I had forgotten at the sudden appearance of Mr. Diggle.

"Boy-Who-Lived, Professor?"

McGonagall grimaced.

"A rather unfortunate epithet for one Harry Potter, the origin of which… Well, a while ago, there was this – well, I say man, though he was more… Never mind.  There was this person; we called him You-Know-Who. He led a group of extremists who called themselves 'Death Eaters'."

"Dramatic," I commented.

McGonagall frowned darkly.

"Those were dark days.  We trembled at their very mention – and for good reason.  Do not make light of it."

"Sorry," I apologised.

McGonagall sighed.

"You've never lived in–"

She closed her eyes, stopping for a moment and taking a deep trembling breath.

"Ten years ago, You-Know-Who attacked the home of one of the more active resisters against him.  The Potter family. He killed James, leaving his body downstairs."

I stood silent as McGonagall rambled.

"He killed Lily, right in front of Harry, who was at the time only a year old.  Then, somehow, when he attempted to kill Harry, something happened such that not only did Harry survive, You-Know-Who was burnt to nothingness, leaving only his robes and wand behind.  That's when Harry Potter began to be called the Boy-Who-Lived."

She fell silent for a moment.

"Um…" I coughed awkwardly.  "Should we go to the wand shop now?"

"Of course," answered McGonagall, shaking herself free of her memories and leading me forward.

We remained silent a long while; I let my thoughts churn inside me.

"Ollivander is the premier wandmaker in Britain," McGonagall said suddenly.  "Though he can be rather odd."

"Odd?" I wondered.  "In what way?"

We stopped outside the dusty-windowed shop.  On the right, the glass was cleaned barely enough to allow people outside to see an old wand on top of a faded purple cushion.  

McGonagall smiled.

"You'll see.  Go on in," she said.

Cautiously, I climbed up the two steps and into the shop.  I paused at the last step, looking at a sign that proudly proclaimed, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

Hesitantly, I pushed at the door.  It creaked as it opened, and I shivered as I stepped inside.

"Hello?"

The door slammed shut; I jumped.

The sound vanished without an echo.  Shivering, I walked towards the cluttered wooden countertop.

"Hello?"

My eyes started flicking around, looking at the dulled mirror, the vase of browning flowers, the–

An unfamiliar voice spoke.  "Hello."

I whirled around, colliding with the counter, my heart pounding in my ears.  Piercing grey eyes stared into mine.

Then I took a deep calming breath.  This was what McGonagall must have meant by "odd".

"Sorry," I said, my hands steadying a dirty little empty glass bottle wobbling on the countertop.  "You startled me."

"It is of no issue," he replied.  "I must wonder, however, why your reaction was so much more pronounced than I would have predicted.  Your past, perhaps. Or unfamiliarity? Ah yes!"

His eyes sharpened.

"Culture shock.  But there is something more – something else you just discovered about yourself."

My eyes widened, then narrowed.

"But no matter," he continued.  "I expect you're here to purchase your wand, yes?  Which is your wand hand?"

I blinked at the unfamiliar phrase.

"Ah yes, muggleborn, of course.  Which hand do you use to write?"

"My right hand," I mumbled.

"Hmm."

And with a snap of his fingers, a measuring tape came flying out of his pocket and began measuring my hands.  Then my arms. Then my neck.

"Um…" I said as the tape found the measurements of more and more ridiculous places.

"Yes?" asked Ollivander, looking up from a piece of paper.

"Why is the tape measuring my nose hair?"

I smacked the offending object.

"Ah, yes," said Ollivander, snapping his fingers.  "Pardon my forgetfulness."

Drooping disappointedly, the tape stopped, hovered in place, and slowly began to roll itself up.

"Oh, do hurry up!" snapped Ollivander.

Instantly, the tape measure was tightly rolled and back in his pocket.  I blinked.

"Um," I hesitated.  "Is that thing actually alive?"

"Hah!" exclaimed Ollivander.  "Most people never ask that. Of course it isn't, though I did design it to seem so."

He strode behind the counter, reaching to grab a box from the cluttered shelves behind.  Then he paused, his hand still hovering at the box, but his head turning to look at me once more.

"You're American; perhaps something from that side of the pond."

And with that, he vanished behind a shelf.

I took a deep breath.  That man was – well, odd wouldn't be the least of it.

"Silver fir," announced Ollivander behind me.

I startled, whirling around to face him.

He pressed a wand into my hand.  "And horned– no, no."

He vanished once again into the back of the store, leaving the wand and an empty box on the countertop.  After taking a moment to calm myself, I began looking about warily to prevent further scares.

"Snakewood–"

I jumped and spun around.

"–and Wampus cat hair."

I took hold of the wand.  It emitted a wailing sound, making me wince.

"No, not that either," muttered Ollivander, snatching away the wand and vanishing once more into the back of his shop.

By now, I was expecting Ollivander to appear from nowhere, so when he announced, "Maple and Thunderbird feather," I wasn't surprised.  I reached out to the wand, then stopped.

It felt… strange.  Repulsive.

"I don't think–" I began.

"Definitely not.  Thunderbirds seem to disagree with you."

He left that third wand on the table, going to a nearby shelf and removing a box.  Then he turned back to me.

"Perhaps you could try this one?" he asked.

I took hold of the box, wiping off the dust and noticing a faded symbol similar to the U.S. coat of arms in faded gold.

"The MACUSA symbol," Ollivander explained quietly at my questioning look.

I ruthlessly suppressed a scowl at the mention.

Fingers trembling, I removed the top of the box, setting it on the table.  The wood shone reddish-brown in the dim light.

"Red cedar," said Ollivander.  "Rougarou hair, thirteen-and-a-half inches.  Hard, yet brittle. An imported Beauvais wand – one of the more recent ones, after the family began branching out into other wand woods.  Be very careful with it."

My hand grasped the shiny lacquer of the handle of the wand, and carefully, waved it.  A green trail of light followed it.

He stared at the light for a few moments.

"Alas, that I see that you might not heed my warning," he said, his face becoming a stiff mask.  "That yet another one of those goes out into the world with a wand sold by an Ollivander.  Alas."

His eyes sharpened.

"Eleven galleons."

At my confused look, his face softened and he clarified, "The gold ones."

"Oh," I said, counting them out.  "Thank you!"

"You're very welcome," he murmured, his attention having fled from the shop.

I turned and walked away, leaving him to his musings.  As I pushed the door open, a ray of sunlight burnt into my eyes.  Wincing and blinking rapidly, I stumbled down the two steps that linked Diagon Alley to the elevated door of Ollivanders.

Fortunately, I caught myself.

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak.

"I'm fine," I said, cutting her off.  "My eyes adjusted to the dark; that's all."

"If you say so," McGonagall said dubiously.  "So, how was Ollivander?"

I snorted.

"Odd isn't the least of it," I said.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of my visit to Diagon Alley was not as eventful.

As it turned out, with magic, there was a way to avoid the differing diffractions of different colors going through a lense, and Space Expansion Charms were used to extend magical telescopes, so magical refracting telescopes were as good, if not better, than a non-magical reflecting telescope.

In fact, many scientific instruments invented before the the separation between the magical and non-magical worlds were actually invented by magical people. Then, after the local magical governments decided to enact the separation, the non-magical people got stuck in a dark age lasting generations.

According to this book I'm reading, by the time the Statute of Secrecy was officially enacted worldwide, most local magical governments had already completed separation. The only exception was in some parts of America, and they enacted a more complete separation than most countries soon afterwards.

I leaned my head back to rest on the back of the chair in the room which I had been assigned. The bed, which I had so crookedly made this morning, had been straightened, and the dirty clothes which I had piled in a corner had been taken, cleaned, pressed, and either folded or neatly hung away.

Even my backpack had been repacked.

In such a place where someone had so obviously gone through my things, it was impossible for me to feel secure.

I groaned and shut my book, before pulling out a brand new leather-bound journal.

I tapped my wand against the brass lock, saying " _Alohomora._ "

The lock popped open.

My hand gripped a pen. Tightly, at first, until I forced it to relax. For a moment, its point hovered there, over the page, as I thought what I would write.

_Friday, August 2 nd, 1991_, I wrote.

My hand froze, the tip of the pen hovering over the page. For a moment, I sat there, unmoving as stone, considering what else I could write.

Then I began.

I wrote about philosophy. About what makes a person who they are. About how erasing someone's memories was like erasing part of their personality. About how forcefully and significantly changing someone's personality was like killing the person they were before.

A person was the sum of their memories.

As soon as the ink had finished drying, I closed the book.

" _Colloportus_ ," I said, waving my wand at the book. The brass lock flew together, clicking.

I sighed.

The day had been long. So far away from electrical lighting, the stars and moon illuminated the night sky. I gazed up at the bright quarter moon, my eyes struggling to make out its features.

I assembled my telescope. Well, I say assembled – it was closer to activating a self-assembly mechanism.

The numerous separate pieces, which I would have been hard-pressed to assemble without instructions, propped themselves up and fitted themselves together. Brass eyepieces and hollow metal rods and dull solid metal pieces and the cylinder all came together to form the finished telescope.

I inspected the assembly with a critical eye. Despite the repeated assurances which had been printed in the books, I was still skeptical of the quality of such an archaic design. The entire thing looked like a telescope that one would stereotypically find in an alchemist's workshop: an overly fat and oddly short brass cylinder capped with glass lenses, upon a tripod.

As the stars began to brighten up the night sky, I brought my eye to the lense. My view exploded with the millions of stars upon the black canopy of the sky.

That night, I slept with a peaceful smile upon my face.


	8. Chapter 8

I woke with a smile upon my face, the last flickers of the last night's dreams quickly fading away. Sunlight shone through a window, illuminating the rightmost part of my bed and the wall beyond.

I sat up, confused. In the past, it was common that I wake just before dawn. Dreams – good dreams in particular, were a rarity.

A yawn escaped my mouth. I turned and stood. The walls grey stone brick, quite unlike the bright cheery yellow of my home. I sighed at the bleak reminder of the new world in which I had only just been thrust into.

I prepared myself for the day, cleaning my teeth and changing my clothes. As I walked towards the door, I paused.

" _The day begins, and now let's see_ ," I quoted, " _what this world will do for me._ "

Releasing a deep breath, I pushed the door open and strode through. My feet led me down dusty corridors and through empty hallways. Up staircases and past statues. In a minute's time, I sat in some gallery, watching the sunbeams stream through the dusty air.

"I would give up magic, give up all knowledge of magic," I declared, "if it would help me regain my family."

I shook my head.

"Does it make me selfish, that I would forsake any chance of preventing such things from happening again, for nothing more than my own comfort?"

My eyes wandered, skipping over the windows, the dusty paintings, and the faded curtains.

"My dear," said a voice to my left, "that a child of your age would wish to have his family returned to them cannot be held as a fault to their character."

I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Over here, dearie," came the voice again.

I looked upwards, my eyes catching on a dusty painting portraying a woman sitting in front of a shelf of books.

"But it is selfish," I said. "What else could it be? I would sacrifice any chance of protecting those like my family, if it would mean that I had my family back."

"Perhaps it is selfish," said the woman in the painting. "But a child belongs with their family. I will not begrudge you of a chance to regain your family, no matter that in result you may fail to protect others like them. But– I must ask – are you able? No? Then do as you would please to prevent others to fall as they have."

" _See in this some higher plan_ ," I realised, quoting.

"Exactly!"

I stood.

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you so much. I– I'll do that. I'll do that."

~~~Break~~~

My mind whirred. With magic, could mind-wiping, _Obliviation_ , be reversible? Why hadn't I considered it before?

Food could wait. I rushed to the library, flush with hope. Footsteps echoed off the walls as I ran through the castle.

Hands slammed against the closed door. The wooden panels rattled in their frames, but remained sealed. I shoved them again.

For a third time, I slammed my shoulder into the doors. I needed to get in– needed to learn how I could–

Stars filled my vision. I lay flat on my back. The door glowed at me ominously, before dimming to darkness.

"Ugh," I groaned.

I rolled onto my side, pushing myself up. Taking a nervous glance around, I turned and fled.

A half-minute later, I paused. What was I running from, and why?

I retraced my thoughts. A moment ago, I became suddenly panicked, after trying to enter the library. I had been trying to enter the library forcefully. So, I guess I was afraid somebody would come after me for trying to break into the library?

Odd; usually my memory was better than that.

I shrugged my shoulders, then decided to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. After the first flight of stairs, I took a quick look around.

My surroundings were unfamiliar. The stone walls were barren, the lights unlit. Cobwebs, long since abandoned by their weavers, covered corners and draped over grotesque statues.

I turned around; behind me, the stairs had turned away, leaving me stranded at an isolated landing.

"Hello?"

The light from the landing across was barely enough for me to see. Wavering, I drew my wand. The tip glowed, but its light was drowned out by the torches that were so far from here.

I took a hesitant step forward. Behind me, the door closed, leaving me with only the dull grey glow of my wand for light.

Shivering, I continued forwards. Even if the door behind was closed, the corridor must have some other exit. I took another step, the sound echoing eerily off the walls.

A quiet _whump_. I spun around.

Behind me, a brazier of oil ignited, the orange flames struggling to illuminate the corridor. The walls were bereft of windows, and the only other door was opposite where I stood.

Wand in hand, (not that it'd help me much) I walked down the corridor.

Halfway down the corridor, I marveled at the corridor's deceptive length. It seemed to take me thrice as long than I expected to walk any amount of distance. As I walked, braziers ignited beside me.

After the first few seconds, I began jogging towards the door that approached much too slowly.

I noticed something odd soon after. In the first minute, I had managed to traverse half the room. In the next, I traversed half the remaining. In the third, half of that; an eighth.

A voice sounded behind me.

"Mr. Anderson."

I turned. Behind me, only a few feet away, was the Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore," I exclaimed.

"I must apologise," he said. "I had intended to tell you after breakfast; this corridor, the third floor corridor on the right, is forbidden, as is the Dark Forest. Alas, I did not anticipate that you would want to explore the castle before you ate."

"What's going on in this room?" I asked.

"Ah, that will take an amount of explaining," he said. "Perhaps we could talk on the way down to breakfast?"

I nodded, and in a few short seconds, we had reached the closed door. The Headmaster opened it, waving his hand over the latch.

"This year," said the aged man, "one of my tutors, and a dear friend of mine (though I do suspect he sees me more as a grandson), has requested that I hold on to an item of his for safekeeping. It's been in his family for centuries, and, well, he's been slowly becoming more forgetful as time went on. He doesn't want it to be stolen."

I nodded. "So you were going to put that item in that other room? The one I never got a chance to see?"

Dumbledore laughed.

"No," he said. "Though Master Flamel's defensive spells and wardings are quite excellent, I do intend to fill the rooms beyond with more defences."

"That was quite a defence," I said. "Was it based off Zeno's Paradoxes?"

"Yes! They are quite ingenious. I can't claim credit; I don't understand half of what my tutor had done to make that happen."

I laughed.

Wait a moment.

"Flamel," I said. "And you say you suspect he sees you as a grandson? Are you talking about the Alchemist?"

"You know of him?" Dumbledore wondered.

"He is famous. I know there are a number of streets in France named after him. He was a very wealthy philanthropist, rumoured to be the only alchemist who had created the Philosopher's Stone–"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.

"–and his coffin was, after his death, discovered to be filled with rocks. Did he really succeed?"

"Yes," said the Headmaster. "He did indeed."

We descended the next staircase in silence.

"I'm sorry," I said awkwardly.

We stopped in a corridor without paintings.

"What has happened was of no fault of yours. I have forgotten, in my dotage, how sharp a child's mind can be. But it is I who must apologise. I have let slip that which cannot be publicly known, and yet I know how you feel of memory manipulation."

My eyes widened; I took a step back. My eyes, active as they were, noticed the man fingering his wand. Instantly, I scrambled for my own.

"Calm yourself!" ordered Dumbledore, his hands flying from his wand. "Though I might ask what you hope to do, seeing as you are untrained with wandwork."

My hand trembled, clutching a wand — my wand — holding it as if to guard my body,

"Come now," said Dumbledore, "I did not intend to modify your memories. Though that may have been my first choice, being preferable to most people, there are alternatives. I can, for example, cast a compulsion curse upon you such that if you should attempt to communicate the presence of the Stone in this castle, you would suffer some mishap that would prevent the secret being loosed. It is your choice."

I gaped. Not only could wizards wipe a person's memory, they can also strip the free will from a person.

My mouth moved before I thought.

"So instead of modifying my mind, you propose to bend my free will such that I cannot communicate the presence of the Stone."

"There is a reason why most do not select this option," the Headmaster pointed out.

"Most?" I exclaimed, aghast. "How often do you do this?"

"In the Muggle world, there exist non-disclosure agreements," Dumbledore explained. "For us, there are more options for enforcement. Most who sign them agree to be Obliviated of memories which contain that they are prohibited to disclose. Much fewer are those who are put under permanent compulsions to not communicate the knowledge without permission."

I hummed my understanding.

"Of course, because the Stone will be returned before the next school year, there is no need for the compulsion to be permanent. Simply agree to not tell anyone about the Stone."

I sighed.

"Are there any other options?"

"No," Dumbledore said flatly. He took a deep breath. "Nothing else I would accept, or bring myself to carry through. Nothing that you would permit any more than what I have already said."

Something he would not… oh. Mind-wiping, or worse.

Back on topic.

"Fine," I sighed. "Then I choose…"

A sudden bout of paranoia hit me. "Wait a minute, how can I know that you won't add any other compulsions?"

"You don't," answered Dumbledore bluntly. "Beyond that I give my word I shall not do so. All you can do is trust that the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot would not break his word. Though," he added, with more humour, "that I am a politician, and a high-ranking one at that, may not reassure you as much as I might hope."

I chuckled for a moment, before letting the laugh die to an awkward silence.

"Fine," I said. "Give me a moment to think how to word it…"

He stood silently as I thought.

"Got it. _Until it leaves the castle, I shall not allow my actions to communicate either the presence or the location of the Philosopher's Stone in this castle to those who are not already aware of both, but not to the extent to be forced into positive action to protect such knowledge._ Would that be sufficient?"

"Very much so," said Dumbledore. "It is done."

I blinked.

"What, so fast?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You were willing, I was prepared, and I have my wand in my hand."

I glanced down, surprised that he had managed to draw his wand without me noticing.

"I must say, I am impressed that you managed to word that promise so well," he said, resheathing his wand.

I laughed.

"I don't lie. Whenever I make a promise, I like to be completely clear what my promise means. That way, no one has any false assumptions."

For a moment, I thought I saw the barest flicker of a frown cross the Headmaster's face, but it I barely noticed it before it vanished.

"I see," he said. Blatantly changing the subject, he continued, "Let's go down to breakfast. I'm sure you're hungry."


	9. Chapter 9

Dumbledore was right, I mused as I scraped the rest of the food off my plate. I was starving.

I set down my utensils. They, along my plate, vanished a second later.

For a moment, I sat in my seat, considering my course of action. I stood.

"A moment of your time, Mr. Anderson," said McGonagall, appearing suddenly behind me. "Before you go, there are a few things I should say. The third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds. You know why. The Dark Forest is forbidden except for a few select areas. Outside those, we cannot guarantee your safety. Avoid the whomping willow – it'll try to smash you.

"We've registered you with the British Ministry of Magic. They've arranged for an identity to be registered in the Muggle world. To them, you are a British national who lived in America for nearly a decade, returning to attend your parents' school."

I nodded.

"Right," I said. "So, I'll be going to the library."

I rubbed my eyes.

McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Are you alright? After what has just happened? After yesterday?"

I nodded.

"I'll be fine," I said, then yawned. "It's just that back home, it's six o'clock. The past four days have been rather hectic, and my sleep schedule is a bit out of whack."

I yawned again.

McGonagall sighed.

"You can go to the library," she said, "so long as you return to your room to rest if you need to."

I smiled sadly.

"I know what I'm doing. This isn't the first time I've traveled between time zones. I'll stay up for the rest of the day; try to get my internal clock readjusted."

McGonagall looked doubtful.

"Look," I said. "I've done this before with a twelve-hour change. I can manage four hours."

She nodded, sighing.

"If you say so," she said.

I turned, then paused.

"Oh, and good morning, Professor," I said, ignoring the note of doubt in her voice.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson."

~~~Break~~~

Four minutes later, I was annoyed.

Somehow, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find the library. I growled, turning away and stalking off to my room.

I collapsed into the chair, fists clenched. If I wasn't able to find the library, I wouldn't be able to research Obliviation and compulsion and whatever other mind-spells that might help me to fix my family's memories.

I sighed, forcefully relaxing my hands. My fingertips laid gently on the wooden grain of the table. I turned, looking out the window. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating my room. My eyes followed the glowing motes of dust dancing in the sunlight, watching as they blew this way and that. One mote of dust caught my eye, and I watched as it fell, blown by the wind, to land–

I spun around. There, on the floor beside the bed, was a great wooden trunk, upon which the Hogwarts crest shone in sharp relief.

Gritting my teeth for a moment at the intrusion into my private space, I threw open the lid.

Books laid within the chest, beside sealed packages and scales and all sorts of other equipment.

Books – beautiful books full of knowledge of all sorts of magic.

I pulled out the first book that caught my eye: Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. The crisp pages were filled with diagram after diagram, drawn in black ink that moved against the page. I stared, entranced, at the pages.

Then I blinked, and flipped to the beginning of the book.

I sped through the introduction, read carefully and thoroughly through the warnings, thrice, then finally, turned to the first spell.

The next few hours I spent casting and recasting spells and charms.


	10. Chapter 10

I rolled out of bed.

Today was the start of the next school term. The start of my first term as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the past month, I had only begun to acclimatise to the magical world. I was more used to coming across fairies and ashwinders and flobberworms. I had conversed with more portraits than I cared to count, and I had met (and even fallen through) ghosts.

I even got used to my plates and silverware vanishing after meals.

But whenever I had just begun to get comfortable, something new appeared to shock me out of that tantalizing state of mind.

Last week, I had been in a bit of a shock after an encounter with a Boggart. The week before, I had watched as a bird burst aflame, and a chick reemerging from the ashes. The week before that, I had sat on a flimsy piece of wood that somehow managed to not only support my weight, but to fly despite it.

I was trying to adjust, but what had happened were only reminders of how out of my depth I was.

Reaching under my pillow, I retrieved my wand. I stood.

Dumbledore wanted me to get the, quote, _full Hogwarts experience_ , so today, I would go to London, via Side-Along Apparition (as the staff didn't trust me to Floo by myself), and take a train ride all the way back to the northernmost parts of Scotland.

Waste of time if you ask me, but I'm not making the rules.

I entered the adjoining bathroom, freshened myself up, and released a great sigh.

Though it had been less than a month since I last saw my family, already their faces faded from memory. I had done my best to replicate their faces in my journal, but my skills didn’t lie in drawing.

I stumbled back out into the room, to the desk where I left my journal. I flipped it open, staring at the crudely-drawn faces of my family. I paused there.

The drawings, smeared and splattered and smudged, bore little resemblance to a human face, much less those of my family.

Screaming, I tore the pages out of the book, threw them into the bare fireplace, and cast an angry " _Incendio_ " after them.

My arm dropped to my side, the spell ceasing. For a moment, I stared at the burning paper before I grabbed a shoe and began trying to extinguish the fire.

I picked up the papers, straightening them out on the desk. They were covered with ash, charred, yet still barely recognizable.

" _Reparo_ ," I said.

The ash flowed over the paper, reforming its shape. The paper straightened.

But the pictures – the burnt half of my sister's face was gone, replaced with a grey rectangle of ash.

Carefully, I picked up the page. The ashes disintegrated around it, and I dropped it back on the table.

I sobbed on the floor.

~~~Break~~~

Some time later, I stood. Looking down with blurry eyes, I waved my wand, with a muttered " _Tergeo_ ". The dust and ash expelled itself from my robes, and the tears removed themselves from my face.

I walked to the mirror in the bathroom. My eyes were puffy, but there was nothing I could do about that.

Re-entering the bedroom proper, I sweeped my wand over the room with a muttered "Pack". Stray items straightened themselves up, then stowed themselves in the trunk.

I pushed the lid, letting it swing shut and slam down on the trunk. With a quick wave of my wand, and a muttered " _Locomotor trunk_ ," the trunk lifted off the ground.

Grabbing on the top of the trunk, I walked out of the room.

~~~Break~~~

I sat in the Great Hall, mechanically shoveling food into my mouth. Despite how well it had no doubt had been cooked, the food turned to ash in my mouth. I forced myself to finish my food, then stood.

Recasting " _Locomotor trunk_ " and a quick " _Tergeo_ ,” I moved myself to the door. I rubbed my eyes and clenched my jaw.

Only a short minute later, the faculty finished their breakfasts. I stood, silently following Professor McGonagall from of the Great Hall, out to the carriages.

I froze.

"Professor," I hesitated. "What are those?"

I pointed at the leathery-skinned, bat-winged creatures.

McGonagall frowned.

"Those are the carriages, of course," she answered.

"No!" I exclaimed. "I mean those– those _things_ pulling it!"

"Oh," she said. "Those."

The professor seemed to deflate.

"Those are called 'thestrals'. They can only be seen by those who have seen death."

I paused for a moment, considering.

"Oh," I said.

We sat in the carriage.

Gravel and dirt ground under the wheels of the carriage as we set off. I suddenly was struck with the impression of–

_AN EXPLOSION– DUST, DIRT, GRAVEL– A HEAVY THUD_

I blinked and shook my head heavily. The events of a month ago must have worn heavily on me.

Unconsciously, my right hand rose, rubbing at a scar on my left arm, where a shard of gravel had embedded itself.

"Mr. Anderson?"

Startled out of my memories, I turned to the professor, my hand dropping to my side.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

I nodded, then looked away, to the right. Towards the forest. My eye caught a flash of silver. A sure sign of a unicorn. _Is my purpose pure?_ I asked it.

When I blinked, it was gone.

"I hold my course; I keep my aim," I affirmed quietly.

A quick glance to my left revealed that McGonagall had not heard me.

I bowed my head and closed my eyes. I promised to myself silently that somehow, that mind-wiping would be punished.

Suddenly, the carriage rolled to a halt. Caught unawares, I fell forwards, catching myself on the opposite seat. I turned around to see that she had stood and drawn her wand.

"Professor?"

"We have just exited the range of Hogwarts' protective enchantments," she said.

I paused for a moment, my hand reaching for my wand.

"And?"

Professor McGonagall dismounted the carriage.

"We can Apparate now," she answered.

My hand dropped to my side.

I dismounted the carriage, a hand unconsciously straightening my robes.

I followed her to the back of the carriage, and grasped an end of the trunk.

"Best to have the trunk on the ground," recommended the professor. "We wouldn't want to drop it after we Apparate."

I nodded.

"What about the thestrals?" I asked. "And the carriage?"

"The thestrals can find their way back themselves," answered McGonagall.

Together, we lifted the trunk and lowered it to the ground.

"We'll need to be in contact in order to Apparate," said Professor McGonagall.

She bent over, laying left hand on the lid of the the trunk. I stood beside her, and took hold of her shoulder.

A moment later, the world twisted around us as we squeezed and bent and warped.


	11. Chapter 11

I landed heavily on both feet, my knees buckling. The force of the landing drove me onto my hands and knees, whereupon the nausea from Apparition made itself known.

Moments later, I stood, resolutely looking away from the puddle of vomit.

" _Scourgify_ ," said McGonagall. "Well, I suppose I did warn you."

I nodded. I had been curious what she had met when she had said that the alternatives to Floo were much worse, and did a bit of asking about.

"That you did," I said, making a face. "I just thought–"

"That I was exaggerating?" asked McGonagall after a moment.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I guess so."

I looked around for some way to change the subject. The topic came quickly.

"So this is the famous Hogwarts Express," I said.

McGonagall nodded.

"That it is. It'll set off in a bit less than half an hour, so you'll have plenty of time to board."

I hummed in response.

"I will have to return soon, to finalise preparations for the rest of the students."

"Please," I said. "Don't let me keep you."

McGonagall nodded.

"I'll be fine," I added.

Her lips tightened, but she nodded and vanished with a loud crack. Looking around, I raised my hand to rub at a budding headache.

Then, I groaned and rubbed at my chest. My nervousness was getting to me, manifesting itself as a mild nausea.

Fifteen minutes later, I exited the magically-cleaned toilet, feeling much fresher. I walked to the train.

According to _Hogwarts, a History_ , the Hogwarts Express were legally under the Hogwarts umbrella, and as such fall under the same Underage Magic exemption.

That was why I felt safe enspelling my trunk with _Locomotor_.

I boarded the train, holding my trunk behind me. Two tall redheads surrounded a scrawny boy.

Quietly, I lowered my trunk to the floor.

I stepped in.

"'Scuse me," I demanded, "Would you like to be stared at like an animal in a zoo?"

The two redheads – twins, I realised – turned in unison, saying in a single voice, "A what now?"

I sighed. Why did I bother?

"Wizards," I groaned.

The two stared at me for a moment, then their mouths twitched.

They burst out laughing just as someone else called them.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

Obviously taking another glance at the boy, they left, leaving me alone with him.

I turned to the boy

"Hi," I said, nodding my head towards the compartment. "Do you mind?"

I waited for a few seconds. As the boy didn't protest, I stepped into the compartment.

Pulling my trunk with me, I lifted it (thank goodness for charms) onto the luggage rack, letting it settle next to an obviously battered trunk.

I took a seat, watching as a caring Mother fussed over her children. How long ago it seemed that I was in their position? Lost in my thoughts, my gaze began to drift.

Suddenly, the other boy spoke.

"Hi," he said, fidgeting.

My head twitched a bit to the left, but I continued watching the scene.

"Hi," I replied. "Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind."

"I can see that," said Harry. "What's your name?"

I tore my gaze away from what was outside. Noticing that the other boy had seated, I wondered when and how he did so without me noticing.

"William Anderson," I introduced myself. "Pleasure to meet you. You are?"

"Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter."

Then, he grumbled, "Not that you needed to ask."

I blinked. There was obviously some story behind that.

"I'm sorry," I said, "did I do something to offend you?"

There was something about his name. I thought for a moment, snapping my fingers.

"Now that I think of it," I said, "your name sounds sorta familiar."

Harry's expression turned stormy.

Immediately, I added, "Not that I'd press or anything if it's an uncomfortable subject!"

Harry sighed.

I waited for him to speak.

He looked out of the window.

I glanced awkwardly outside, then at him, then back outside.

The train began to move. Shocked, I compulsively glanced at a nearby clock to realise that yes, more time had lapsed than I had expected. It was already eleven o’clock.

I sat in a few more moments of awkward silence when the door to the compartment slid open.

"Anyone else sitting here?"

It was the youngest boy of that redheaded family I had been watching.

He explained, "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head.

"Hey, Ron," called the one of the redhead twins. "Listen, we're going down to the middle of the train – Lee's got this giant tarantula."

Ron shivered.

"Right," he said.

"Harry," said the second twin. "Did we introduce ourselves? Sorry. Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother."

The two turned to me.

"Sorry," one said.

I stared at them for a short moment.

"I'm not the one to apologise to," I said.

They gave me a reading look, then turned back to Harry.

"Sorry," one said.

"We've been told that we have ‘overwhelming personalities'," said the other.

A quick look at Harry showed that yes, he was overwhelmed.

"It's alright," said Harry, glancing at me.

"Right," I said. "That's enough; stop gawking at the boy."

"Okay, okay," said a twin.

"We're going, we're going," said the other.

A moment later, and it was only myself, Harry, and Ron. The door to the compartment slid shut.

There was a long moment of silence.

Ron leaned forwards.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" he blurted.

Harry sighed but nodded.

"Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "Have you really got – you know?"

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled his hair back, exposing a scar in the shape of the stereotypical lighting bolt.

"So that's where You-Know-Who–"

"Yes, but I can't remember it."

Though I was poised to cut in, I too was curious. How was this scrawny boy related to the bogeyman of Magical Britain?

"Nothing?" asked Ron eagerly.

"Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

And then I remembered. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

"Enough of that," I ordered.

Ron turned to me.

"And who are you? His bodyguard?"

"I could be," I hedged.

Ron's eyes widened.

"Really?" he asked. "Do you know any of those Muggle martial arts?"

I stared at him. He stared at me.

My mouth twitched.

Then, in unison, we burst out laughing.

Once Ron had caught his breath, he asked, "So anyways, what’s your name?"

"William," I introduced. "William Anderson."

I extended my hand, and a moment later, Ron shook it.

~~~Break~~~

In the following hours, the three of us – well, mostly myself and Ron, though I did make an effort to include Harry – held a long-winded conversation over wizarding treats.

The door opened.

"Sorry," said a chubby-faced boy, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

We shook our heads.

The boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry in a manner that was not at all comforting.

"Actually," I said, "maybe you could ask a prefect or something? There must be some spell they could use to find it."

The boy's eyes widened with hope.

"Do you really think so?"

"Really," I affirmed.

The boy left, smiling widely. I smiled too as I slid the door shut once more.

"Y'know," said Ron, "If I had a toad, I'd try to lose it as soon as I could. Not that I should speak; I've got Scabbers."

I looked down at the rat.

"Yes," I mused. "I suppose it is pathetic. But wouldn't you be worried if you lost it? After all, you must have owned it for what– three, four years?"

Ron sighed.

"I got Scabbers a month ago, when Percy got his owl," he said. "But Scabbers has been in the family for as long as I can remember."

I raised my eyebrow. "So it must be a magic rat, then. Rats don't live very long, maybe five years if you're lucky. Or unlucky, as the case may be."

Harry snorted, while Ron made agreeing noises.

"He could have died and you wouldn't be able to tell," he said, disgusted. "I tried to turn him yellow, just 'cause it'd be interesting, but it didn't work."

Harry leaned forwards.

"Could you try again?" he asked, obviously eager to see magic.

"Sure," said Ron.

He stood, and I was suddenly struck by how much taller he was than the two of us. He reached up, to the luggage rack, and I stood to help him lower his trunk.

It took a few minutes of rummaging through the trunk before Ron finally emerged, holding a worn and battered wand.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out," he muttered as he checked the whitened tip of the wand. "Anyways–"

He cleared his throat and raised his wand.

"Sunsh–"

The door slid open, interrupting him.

A girl stood in the doorway, already wearing her Hogwarts robes. I found myself nodding approvingly at her diligence.

"Has anyone found a toad? Neville's lost one."

Her tone of voice was almost exactly like my sister's, though obviously with a British accent. I found myself opening my mouth to fondly correct her grammar, before I remembered that she was a stranger and not my sister.

"We gave him a bit of help– told him to ask a prefect," I said, but the girl was not listening.

"Oh," said the girl, "you're doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat.

Taken aback, Ron took a moment to clear his throat again.

"Ahem. _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_  
 _Turn this stupid fat rat yellow!_ "

The sleeping rat was unimpressed.

"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it. I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all; it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way; who are you?"

My eyes grew bigger as she went through her speech with nary a breath taken, at twice the speed that I could have coherently done.

"I'm Ron Weasley," said Ron.

"William Anderson," I said, standing. "Pleased to meet you."

I extended a hand, and without pause, she stood and shook it.

"Harry Potter."

Hermione gasped.

"Are you really? I know all about you, of–"

I cut in.

"I hardly think it polite to say you know 'all about' someone. Especially to their face; how would you like being reminded of–"

I broke off, hoping that Hermione would be smart enough to put the pieces together.

"Anyways," I said frostily as she opened her mouth, "I think you've overstayed your welcome."

She stood there for a moment, jaw flapping, before she turned and fled the compartment.

I sighed, sliding the doors shut once more, before turning to sit back in my seat.

"Whatever house I'm in," said Ron, "I hope she doesn't join."

He tossed his wand back in the trunk, where it clattered against a cauldron before vanishing into its depths.

"Stupid spell – George gave it to me; bet he knew it was a dud."

"Which house are your brothers in?" wondered Harry.

"Gryffindor," replied Ron. "All of them. Mom and dad too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad – though with that girl in there, it might be. But just imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Ron scoffed.

"That's the house Vol– sorry, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron.

He collapsed back into his seat in a manner resembling a long water balloon.

Looking to cheer Ron up, Harry said, "You know, I think the ends of Scabber's whiskers are a bit lighter. So what do your oldest brothers do now that they're left, anyway?"

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Which reminds me, did you hear? It's been all over the Daily Prophet – but then Muggles don't get that, do they."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Somebody tried to rob a high security vault at Gringotts."

I gasped.

"What– what did they do to them?" I wondered.

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught yet. My dad says it must have taken a powerful Dark wizard to get 'round Gringotts, but they didn’t take anything; that's what's so odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens. In case You-Know-Who's behind it, that's why."

I spent some time chewing on that tidbit.

"What's your Quidditch team?" asked Ron suddenly, utterly changing the mood of the room.

"Bless you," I said.

Ron blinked.

"What? I was asking– Oh, right. Muggles."

And he went on describing this utterly madcap game involving flying cannonballs made to knock players off their brooms, and a ball that when caught gave more than half the points usually earned in a game.

After a short while, he began going off on all sorts of tangents, about things like his favourite broomsticks and famous games and all sorts of things.

The door slipped open.

Three boys, two much bulkier than the third, stepped into the compartment.

The smallest, evidently the leader of the three, put on a sneer.

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

He turned to me.

I frowned. Though Harry and I shared superficial similarities, like the color of our hair, I did look quite unlike him. I was taller, for one, and less scrawny. My hair was much better combed, too.

"Yes," said Harry.

"I wasn't talking to you," sneered the boy.

I looked at the two boys behind him. Being much bulkier, they seemed like bodyguards standing beside him.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy, noticing my look. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a quiet cough, as if to hide a laugh. I wanted to laugh too – who did he think he was, "Bond, James Bond" – but hid it much better.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My Father told me all the Weasley’s have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to me.

"You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand, and I couldn't help but notice that Malfoy, Draco Malfoy seemed to have rehearsed that speech.

I took his hand.

"Indeed," I said, taking on the role of Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Universe. "I wouldn't want to fall in with the sort of people who lost the last war, would I?"

I gave a smile barely large enough to show teeth.

That barb should hold him for a while.

"Of course you wouldn't," said Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.

Oh, well then.

"But you simply cannot paint men forced to serve under the Imperius with the same brush," he said.

"I'm glad to see that you're with me in standing against the ideals of the late Lord Voldemort," I said, grinning. "Permit me to introduce you to my client, Mr. Harry Potter. I'm Anderson, William Anderson, the bodyguard here to protect Mr. Potter."

Behind me, Ron and Harry were stifling their laughter. Barely.

Malfoy scowled.

"I haven’t heard of–"

"That's because we don't want our name to be known. It can be better to carry a concealed knife than to bare a greatsword."

My grin widened as I patted Malfoy on the back, letting the tip of my wand in my sleeve tap against him.

He shivered.

"Please," I said. "Would you like to take a seat? Or do you have a prior commitment with your colle– friends?"

I gestured at an area next to Ron.

Malfoy recoiled.

"I really am sorry, Mr. Anderson, I am expected elsewhere."

He fled, followed by his two henchmen.

I slid the door closed, and turned.

"You may laugh now," I said, channeling Harry Potter, Saviour of the Universe.

Moments later, the façade collapsed, and I bent double with laughter.

"Did– did you see his – face?" I said between gasps.

Harry and Ron redoubled their laughter.

I drew upon William Anderson, Bodyguard of Mr. Harry Potter, and spoke again.

"I'm William Anderson, the bodyguard here to protect Mr. Potter."

Another round of laughter.

Then I drew upon Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Young Mob Boss.

"I’m really sorry, Mr. Anderson."

When at last the laughter had died town to occasional giggles, I straightened.

"We're getting really close to Hogwarts," I said. "I think you'd better put on your robes."

The two nodded. Ron and I helped Harry lower his trunk, and they changed.

I looked at Harry's trunk.

"Harry," I said, "why do you only have one other robe?"

"I only need two, that’s why," he said.

The door opened behind me, and Harry slammed his trunk closed.

"What has been going on?" asked Hermione Granger.

Her gaze scanned over the ruffled robes, the trunks, and Scabbers.

Behind me, Harry and Ron were engaging in a quiet conversation.

"– heard of his family –" I heard. "– Malfoy didn't need an excuse to follow You-Know-Who."

Once again, I drew upon William Anderson, Bodyguard of Mr. Potter.

"Can we help you with something?"

"I see your friends have finally got their robes on," she said. "I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there, so good for you."

She looked around.

"You haven't been fighting, have you?" she asked disappointedly. "You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"We've only been engaging in a little verbal sparring," I said tiredly.

I could see that her brain had locked on the word "sparring", completely skipping over the "verbal."

"You really shouldn't be fighting, even with bullies and bigots."

I sighed. " _Verbal_ sparring," I said. "As in with words. As in I talked it down before any fighting started, like a good boy."

Yes, I was being condescending. I was also annoyed, which may have contributed to it.

Hermione sniffed.

"All right. I only came in here because some people were racing up and down the corridors, and you were being rather rowdy," said Hermione, making a not very subtle hint.

She turned and exited the compartment. Before she slid close the door, she got one last sentence off.

"And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at the closed door.

Every trace of humor fled me as I sat down. The constant reminders, of a home that I could never return to, wore on me. I felt drained in a way that left me trembling and weak upon the seat.

A voice echoed through the train.

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."


	12. Chapter 12

We – well, Harry and Ron – crammed our pockets with the remaining sweets in the compartment. Outside, in the corridor, the jam-packed crowd laid rest to any chance of us exiting the train in anything resembling a timely and orderly manner.

The train shuddered to a stop, and we opened the door from the compartment. People streamed off the train and onto the tiny, ill-lit platform.

We shivered in the cold, damp breeze.

Then a lantern appeared in the dark, bobbing above the heads of the first-years.

"Firs' years!" yelled a deep voice. "Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

The face of Hagrid, the giant who lived in the hut by the forest, beamed down from high above the crowd.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step now! Firs' years follow me!"

The mob of first years followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a rather narrow and steep path. In the night, the area on either side of the path was completely in shadow, as if obscured by thick trees.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," called out Hagrid, "jus' round this bend here."

From up front, I could hear the gasping of the students who had just rounded the bend. Having already seen Hogwarts, I thought I was prepared for the view.

I was wrong.

The narrow path suddenly widened, giving us a full view of the lake. Reflected off the barely-rippling surface of the lake was Hogwarts itself, illuminated by a million candles, the many windows sparkling like the stars in the night sky that served as a backdrop to the immense castle.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called out, waving – was that an umbrella – at a small fleet of boats.

Everyone scrambled to get a boat to themselves and their friends. Meanwhile, Hagrid waded into the water, before mounting a boat that seemed altogether too small to support his weight.

"Everyone in?"

No one responded, everyone having boarded a boat.

"Right then," said Hagrid.

He did a quick check, making sure that everyone had boarded a boat.

"FORWARD!"

At once, the little fleet of littler boats set off. Despite the motion of the boats, the water remained still, almost like a mirror. The gently rippling distortion of the reflection only served to make the scene more beautiful.

Before I knew it, a sheer rock cliff obscured our view of the shimmering lights of Hogwarts.

"HEADS DOWN!" bellowed Hagrid as we passed under the cliff, the layers of cold stone blocking out the dim glow of the stars.

For a moment, we sat in utter darkness, the boats still somehow moving forwards. Then, we turned a corner, and the warm glow of torches greeted us.

Hagrid, at the front of the group, disembarked his little boat, then turned to help the rest of us out of our own boats. Neville, the toad boy, slipped on the slick stones, nearly dropping his toad.

Once we had all straightened out our rumpled robes, Hagrid led us up a flight of stone steps and turned to the great oaken doors.

He knocked thrice.

The door swung silently open, barely wide enough to reveal the silhouette of a tall figure.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," announced Hagrid.

Professor McGonagall nodded in greeting.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide open, allowing the group to enter.

I stepped onto the flagstones of the entrance hall. Having been here but a few times over the past month, I was only slightly awed by the size and the decorations adorning the hall.

What was more unfamiliar was the chatter of a hundred voices in an adjoining room. No – the Great Hall. The inane babbling of so many people somehow warmed the castle, as if Hogwarts was incomplete without students within her.

McGonagall led us to a small room, where the entire group stood nervously, somewhat closer to each other than was comfortable.

When we had all settled down save for the occasional shuffling, Professor McGonagall spoke.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, and I relaxed as she ran through the speech. I had heard it before; she had practiced it numerous times when she thought I wasn’t listening.

"I will return when we are ready for you," Professor – no, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall concluded. "Please wait quietly."

With that, she left.

Inwardly, I snorted. Please wait quietly? There was no way a room full of eleven year-olds could manage that.

Sure enough, a scant second after the door closed behind her, a voice spoke up.

"So how exactly do they sort us into houses?" asked Harry.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred says it got him into the hospital wing for a week, but, you know. Fred."

Harry nodded distractedly.

I winced a bit, rubbing at my forehead.

PERSONALITY

"Houses are based off personality, right?" I asked rhetorically. "Then any test is probably going to see what your personality is. A personality test, not a test of knowledge."

A quiet thump sounded, and I glanced to the right, where Hermione Granger had a hand on her forehead.

We stayed quiet for a short period of time, leaving me impressed.

Then a scream cut through the silence like a knife.

Headache exacerbated by the noise, I turned around. A dozen or so ghosts streamed into the room, led by the Fat Friar.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –" said the Friar.

"My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" retorted Sir Nicholas.

I found myself nodding in agreement – I had been prey to some of Peeves's tricks. I listened in on the conclusion of their argument a few seconds later, when the noticed us.

The Friar, kindly man that he was, took time to make us welcome, and not-so-subtly pushing us towards his old house, Hufflepuff.

The door swung open.

"Move along, now," ordered Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

Nodding respectfully at her, the ghosts left through the opposite wall.

"Now form a line, and follow me."

We exited the chamber, crossing the hall to the doors to the Great Hall. McGonagall pushed the doors open, and led us into the Great Hall.

It's amazing how hundreds of students can make the hall seem so much friendlier.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," said Hermione Granger.

I followed her gaze to the ceiling.

"I read about it in _Hogwarts, a History_ ," she added.

After a moment of staring at the stars, I lowered my gaze, just in time to catch McGonagall placing down a stool, with the Headmaster's battered old hat on top.

Then, the hat straightened, opened a rip like a mouth, and began to sing.

It introduced itself, then went on to name the four houses and the virtues for which they are chosen.

"You're in safe hands, (though I have none), for I'm a thinking cap!" it concluded to polite applause.

"So we just put on the hat!" exclaimed Ron. "I'm gonna kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll!"

I rolled my eyes. Even without it being Fred who said that, it was obviously false.

McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a large scroll.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

Hannah Abbott, a blond girl with pigtails, stumbled forwards to the stool. She sat, the hat lowering on her head and falling to cover her eyes.

With bated breath, the room fell utterly silent for the first sorting.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

McGonagall looked back at the list. If it were alphabetical, as I suspected, I would be next.

"Anderson, William!"

I took a calming breath. Stepping forward, I could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall falling upon me. Reading me. Judging me.

Silently, I stepped forward, to just behind the stool. I lifted the Hat off it, then, in one smooth motion seated myself on the stool.

The hat flopped onto my head.

«Interesting. Very, very interesting,» sounded the voice of the Hat.

I blinked, my eyes obscured by the fabric of the Hat. Those words were not heard by the ears, but in the head.

«Courage. Plenty of courage. Loyalty to your ideals. Loyalty to your lost family. A thirst for knowledge. But there's something else.»

"What is it?" I asked. Or rather, I tried to ask; no indication of the words reached my lips.

The hat chuckled.

«So impatient,» it said. «Your ambition is… ambitious»

"Tautology," I noted. Again, not even a twitch reached my lips.

«Indeed. You wish to avenge your lost family. And there is nothing that you would not do to reach that goal.»

"Yes, that's–"

A thought struck me.

"You're not going to put me in Slytherin, are you?" I exclaimed.

«That remains to be seen,» said the Hat drily.

"I thought Hogwarts, a History said that you never sort muggleborns into Slytherin."

«The book is wrong. I only rarely sort muggleborns into Slytherin, and even then only because of their personalities. Most muggleborns would not fit in Slytherin.»

"Because they think differently?"

«Yes.»

I nodded.

«You have ambition, bravery, and a thirst for knowledge and justice, all in great measure. Godric would not have taken you; you are too sneaky for him. Helga would not lay claim on you, for she would wish to avoid conflict.»

"Wait, you knew them?"

«Yes, I was Godric's old hat.»

I blinked. Apparently, I was wrong in assuming that the hat was the Headmaster's.

«We are left with Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The two most stubborn of the four. They had so many arguments in their day, over students. In the end… Why do you seek knowledge?»

Why did I seek knowledge? Years ago, I simply wanted to know everything. But not anymore. There are simply too many things for a single person to know. So, I wanted to know everything useful?

No. That still wasn't quite right. I wanted knowledge that I could use, so I could use it. Even in the past month, the few spells I had learnt were spells which I would find useful every day.

Spells like _Lumos_ , or _Locomotor_.

I learn things so that I can use them.

«You learn things so that you can use them,» echoed the Hat.

"Yes."

«Then I know which house you belong to.»

It took a pause, as if to inhale.

And it spoke.


	13. Chapter 13

"SLYTHERIN!"

I stood, glancing behind me. Harry was staring at me, but averted his gaze as I looked at him.

My hand reached up to remove the Hat and place it on the stool. I walked in silence to the Slytherin table, those few seconds lasting forever.

At last I sat at the Slytherin table. McGonagall gave me a searching look, and Dumbledore had moved his glasses down his nose.

The silence stretched for a moment longer,

Finally, Professor McGonagall spoke.

"Boot, Terry!"

I watched with interest as Boot, Terry sat on the stool in silence.

"RAVENCLAW!"

I clapped politely. The ceremony was quickly becoming boring.

Soon enough, I found myself some entertainment trying to predict which houses someone would be sorted. Those whom I did not know (like Bones, Susan) I had no foundation on which I could base my guesses. Those whom I did know, however…

"Granger, Hermione!"

I remembered the bookish, bossy girl on the train who had memorised all the textbooks.

"Ravenclaw," I muttered.

"GRYFFIDOR!" announced the Hat.

I leaned back, holding myself up by the inner edge of the bench. That sorting was completely unexpected.

Soon afterwards, McGonagall announced another familiar name.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

I thought of the stuttery blonde, who had seemed so fearful. No sign of great intelligence, nor of cunning nor ambition nor courage.

"Hufflepuff," I muttered.

A nearby girl snorted in an unladylike manner.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I frowned.

"How is that even possible?" I asked the girl, eyeing the shiny "P" pin on her collar.

"Sometimes, the Hat sees something deep inside you," she explained. "Ooh, look!"

I turned my attention back to the front, where Malfoy, Draco Malfoy (I snorted at the reminder of his introduction) walked forwards to the stool.

I thought about the brazen boy who had so boisterously entered our compartment.

"Gryffindor," I muttered.

The girl looked at me.

"Seriously?" she asked.

Whatever answer I might have made was cut off when McGonagall lowered the Hat. Before Malfoy's hair had so much as brushed the Hat's rim, it had already made its decision.

"SLYTHERIN!"

I looked at Harry. He was noticeably fidgeting even before the next first year, "Moon, Lily" had been called.

"Slytherin," muttered the girl beside me.

"SLYTHERIN!" agreed the Hat.

I clapped politely.

"Potter, Harry!"

Instantly, the hall fell silent, the gaze of hundreds falling upon the poor boy.

Shaking, Harry stepped forwards.

The hat lowered upon his head.

And we waited.

I scrutinised Harry. The almost constant fidgeting had given way to an almost unnatural stillness, and, despite my place so near to the front, I could barely tell he was breathing.

He was tiny, I realised. Scrawnier than the other first years, and shorter too.

I leaned slightly to my left, away from the front.

"He's taking rather long," I noted.

"Hmm," answered the older girl.

I thought about Harry. A boy who had seemed so friendly, and who was able to move his heavy trunk without magical assistance. A boy whom I had befriended, who was quick to annoyance.

He had no great courage; I had seem him fidgeting in the front. He had no great loyalty, I could see his repulsion in his eyes when I had been sorted. He disliked Slytherin, that much was clear. I wondered where he got that from.

"Ravenclaw," I guessed.

The girl thought for a moment.

"I suppose that's possible," she said. "Wait a moment, it's been almost five minutes."

For a few more moments, I was silent.

Then, at once, the entire hall burst into subdued chattering.

"Another Hatstall?" I heard a voice speak.

I looked to my left.

"Rather interesting," I commented.

Though I was not yet sure what a "hatstall" was, it wouldn't, do to seem foolish.

"Very," said the girl. "It's rare enough to have a single hatstall. To have two in a single year? I wonder what's so special about you."

I nodded. Apparently, Harry and I were the two hatstalls. I guess I'll just have to figure out what it means.

The rest of the first years were sorted quickly. With the last familiar name, "Weasley, Ronald," I did not have time to guess his house before the Hat had announced it.

When at last the last of the first years were sorted, Headmaster Dumbledore stood.

"Welcome!" he said, and the first mutterings of conversation died away. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!"

"Absolutely barmy," grumbled Malfoy to my right.

"And if he is as – barmy, as you say – as he pretends to be, he could not have gotten his collection of titles," I pointed out.

I glanced at the table, barely blinking as I saw the feast now upon it.

"Now, let's eat."

~~~Break~~~

After dinner came a large variety of scrumptious desserts. And after that, the prefects led us first years out of the hall.

I fell into step with Malfoy, gravitating towards the one familiar face in the crowd. He glanced left at me, before focusing once again on the corridors around us.

"Did you hear Dumbledore?" I asked rhetorically. " _The third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death?_ I suppose he might be, as you say, barmy."

Malfoy gave a short laugh.

"A very painful death," he repeated. "Well, I suppose if he says so. If he really was foolish enough to put something actually dangerous into a school…"

I nodded, carefully stepping over a trick step. Malfoy stumbled.

"How did you know that was there, anyways?" he asked.

I remained silent for a moment, considering a proper answer.

Finally, I replied. "I had the luck to be able to reside in Hogwarts for the past month."

Malfoy opened his mouth.

"And, before you ask," I preemptively interrupted, "no, I will not tell you why."

He closed his mouth.

Before we could continue any further conversation, the group stopped in front of a bare stone wall. The girl whom I had sat next to at the Feast began to speak in a commanding tone.

"Welcome to the hidden entrance to the Slytherin Common Room," she announced. "You will not reveal it to members of other houses. You will need a password to enter. The password changes every other week. If you forget the password, you will be locked out. Are there any questions?"

She glared over the mass of heads.

"Good."

She turned to face the wall.

"Serpens viridis."

Without ceremony, the wall vanished.

"Enter," ordered the girl, not looking back as she strode through the newly revealed corridor.

When the last of us had finally entered the room, the corridor silently filled itself behind us.

"Welcome to Slytherin house. My name is Gemma Farley. I am a prefect. If you have any questions, figure it out yourselves. Find a book. If you are too much of a – and I borrow a word from our esteemed Professor Snape – dunderhead to figure out your problems yourself, or somehow bumbled your way into a problem that you by right should not have been able to bumble into, then you might talk to me. If all goes well, I shall not have to speak with you until the end of term."

She gave a pause, glaring at specific people in the audience.

"I expect that by next week, I shall be bombarded with countless problems that you could have no doubt solved if you had bothered to think for a moment."

I nodded in understanding – my brief forays into social gatherings with my so called peers did give me that impression.

"Rules. I will say them here, and doubtless you will not remember them. Should any misfortune befall you due to rule breaking, it will be on your head. First off, Slytherin presents a united front. The other three houses hate us enough already without any infighting.

"Second. Do not be unnecessarily rude. _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_. Do not give anyone an excuse to hate us. They're doing just fine without justification."

I snorted.

"Third," she continued. "Do not be caught breaking rules. Foster the appearance of a model student. Do not give biased people any excuses to be biased.

"Finally. Do not disgrace the house. Do not lose points. We've earned the House Cup the last six years. I'd hate it if you were the ones blamed should we lose it."

She gave us a meaningful stare.

"That's all I have to say," she said.


	14. Chapter 14

The library. The perfect place to avoid the hustle of the castle. There's a silence here, enforced by the iron will of Madam Pince.

I've earned her disapproval, I think. A month ago, I borrowed a book. Then the library vanished, so the book went overdue.

I returned it as soon as I was able, of course.

I looked at the filled rolls of parchment in my bag. Homework was a rather new thing to me; before  _that day_ , all my schoolwork was homework. Now, I had classes I was obliged to sit in, and essays I was obliged to turn in.

What a change in pace.

I rubbed a fading headache. My homework was finally finished, and the first weekend of term was here. So I went to the library to read up on mind magic. Specifically, how to end its effects.

I sat at one of the numerous available tables. Before me, I placed  _Beginning Magical Theory_ , opened to the introduction.

More complex magic did have their prerequisites.

The rustle of robes caught my ear.

"Miss Granger," I greeted.

She glanced at my green tie, then averted her eyes.

"A pity that an entire quarter of the school is shunned by the rest," I said. "I wonder how that came about."

Miss Granger sat heavily in front of me.

"Not a wizard went bad who wasn't in Slytherin," she explained.

"So claimed Bathilda Bagshot," I said. "She also noted notorious Death Eater arrests. November first, nineteen eighty-one: Sirius Black arrested for the murder of Peter Pettegrew and 14 unnamed muggles. If you look up student records, you'll find that Black was in Gryffindor. And, if we look further back, we find that no matter what anyone claims, there was no Hogwarts student by the name of Voldemort in any reasonable timeframe. The chances are that, like his name, he's French."

"According to Bagshot, Black was a Slytherin," countered Granger.

"According to Bagshot, the Black family was traditionally sorted into Slytherin," I corrected. "And student records are less likely to be wrong about what they ought to be recording."

"How about Bartemius Crouch Junior? Bellatrix Lestrange? Thaddeus Nott?"

"Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin respectively. Of all the notable names, one does not have a house, and we have one representative from each house. Of those four, the commonly thought of as most evil are, in order, from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. By your logic so far, Slytherin is actually the house of the nicest ones."

"How about Malfoy?"

"Found innocent."

"Crabbe? Goyle?"

"Also found innocent."

"They were caught red-handed!" Hermione exclaimed.

"They were allegedly mind controlled."

She gasped.

"Mind controlled?!"

" _A History of Magic_ , volume 3, page 437. There's a section on the Imperius curse. Volume 5, page 105 has a section on a mind wipe curse."

I had stumbled on that while researching the history of mind magic.  _Interesting_  how only the most overt mind-control curses were banned, and all the rest were taught in grade school, hmm?

"Gotta love indices," I added.

Granger nodded absently, having already pulled out a volume of  _A History of Magic_.

Thirty seconds later, she distracted me from my own book.

"God," she exclaimed.

I hummed sympathetically.

"With trigger and cascade spells, it's actually very simple to condition people using calming and cheering charms, and the stinging hex," I added. "That's probably more insidious than outright mind-wiping or mind-control."

I returned my attention to my book.

~~~Break~~~

Eventually, two books later, Madam Pince chased us out of the library. I checked out  _Occlumency and Muggle Culture_ , alongside  _Magical Computations_ , the latter for recreational reading.

In my personal room off to the left of the Slytherin Common Room – with my name on the door and everything – I opened  _Magical Computations_ , and read the introduction.

This was a book on magical computers. I eagerly turned the page.

Oh.

Everything was slow. Painfully slow. There was no way I could get anything anywhere near the level of the Commodore 64.

I finished on the chapter detailing logic gates in runes before finally succumbing to my tiredness.

~~~Break~~~

Damn my late-night reading.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, I smothered a yawn, doing my utmost best to focus on Professor McGonagall. My eyes blurred as I turned my gaze towards the matchstick upon the table.

I blinked the sleepiness out of my eyes as I pulled my wand out of my sleeve. As I moved it towards the matchstick, I closed my eyes and began reviewing the lessons Professor McGonagall had taught.

First, I fixed firmly in my mind the image of my matchstick. I recalled every nick and crack in the wood. I recalled every discoloration upon it. I recalled the slight asymmetry of the head.

Then, holding the image firmly in my mind, I brought my wand tip down upon the match. Instantly, as McGonagall had described, the image I had been holding in my head morphed ever so slightly, tiny details which I had not memorised appearing in my mind's eye.

Exhaling slowly, I gently prodded the image until it began to form itself into its new shape: a needle.

The new mental image firmly in my mind, I opened my eyes and promptly sighed in disappointment. What should have been a needle was instead only an oddly shaped wooden stick.

" _Reparifage_ ," I mumbled, poking the stick with my wand.

It morphed back into a match.

At least no one else had managed as much.

~~~Break~~~

The well-ordered class dissolved into chaos the moment we were dismissed. Ignoring the myriad groups of children, I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and strode to the wall.

I slipped my transfigured matchstick into the small niche, before turning to leave.

"Anderson!"

I turned towards the voice of Malfoy.

"Malfoy," I greeted cordially, glancing at the two hulking boys behind him. "Crabbe, Goyle."

I adjusted the straps of my bag.

We stared at each other for a moment, before Malfoy spoke up again.

"Walk with me."

I nodded, turning.

"You did well today," I said.

I recalled the silver matchstick with a red head.

"A change of material, but not shape. Not complete, but then no one's was today."

We exited the classroom without further words, the hustle of the other students drowning out whatever silence that we left.

"I've seen your room," remarked Malfoy.

"Oh?" I raised my right eyebrow. Did he mean the one I lived in before term?

"Your books are impressive. Mind magic and runes."

Ah, in the common room then.

"The subjects are of personal interest to me," I said vaguely.

"They must be, for you to spend so much effort on them," Malfoy said.

We turned right into the next hallway.

"I have ambition," I explained.

"All of us do; we're Slytherin."

I nodded at that.

" _Viridis et Argentum_ ," I said, stepping through the doorway into the common room. "Green and silver. I'll retire to my room until dinner."

Malfoy nodded.


	15. Chapter 15

Over the past month, Hermione and I met regularly just outside the library to discuss what we had learnt. She was of the opinion that Obliviation was somehow acceptable. I, on the other hand, argued staunchly otherwise. I wasn't too offended, of course. I was certain that she'd come around to my point of view sooner or later.

At our last meeting, however, she seemed somewhat more distant. She'd take a few moments longer to say anything and seemed to have trouble meeting my eyes.

"What's the matter?" I asked her after I had noticed her odd behaviour.

She froze, then forced a nonchalant reply.

"Nothing," she said.

"Well, clearly it's not  _nothing_ ," I said.

"Well, it's…" she trailed off.

"If you don't want to say, then you don't have to," I assured her.

"Hmm," she acknowledged with a nod, then went back to reading her book.

I sighed, and went back to my own book.

~~~Break~~~

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I chanted.

Unimpressed, the feather upon my desk stood still.

I grit my teeth. Two months, and I was still nowhere close to figuring out my problem, and I  _couldn't get this bloody spell to work!_

" _Wingardium leviosa!_ "

Finally, it rose into the air. Despite my best efforts, a full quarter of my class were still ahead of me.

"Finally," I muttered, letting my head rest against the wall.

We were dismissed soon after. I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and trudged off to dinner.

~~~Break~~~

Pumpkins. Pumpkins floated in the Great Hall, candles within them illuminating the hall through carved faces. I immersed myself in the flavour of the foods.

Just as I reached for my second slice of pumpkin pie, the doors slammed open.

"Troll!"

I turned to face Professor Quirrell charging into the Hall.

"Troll! In the dungeons!"

Then, his voice weakened to a whimper.

"Thought you ought to know."

He fainted.

A moment of silence.

Then chaos. Everybody stood. Chatter and mumbling and shouting and screaming and—

"Silence!"

Dumbledore's voice cut through the din. The hall was silent save for the rustling of robes.

"Prefects, please organise your houses and lead them back to their common rooms. Professors–"

"What about the Slytherins?" I demanded.

"What about them?"

"The troll is in the dungeons! Didn't you hear Professor Quirrell?"

Dumbledore blinked.

"Ah. Students, stay within the Great Hall. You may continue your Feast."


	16. Chapter 16

Next morning's breakfast was a solemn affair. The usual excitement of a Friday morning was dulled. To make matters worse, breakfast had been delayed, and the entire school was waiting hungry.

Dumbledore stood.

"I bear sad news today," he said. "Yesterday, a mountain troll managed to enter our school. Though most were safe barricaded behind the doors of the Great Hall, not all were there.

"Last night, a number of students were found wandering the halls during the Halloween feast. Four were found by the professors as we searched the school. One was found by the troll."

I closed my eyes in horror.

"Last night," said Dumbledore, "A first-year student, Hermione Granger, of Gryffindor House, was caught and injured by the troll."

~~~Break~~~

"May I see her?" I asked.

Madame Pomfrey looked distrustfully at my green and silver tie. I would return in a week.

~~~Break~~~

"Could you take this to Hermione?"

Ronald Weasley looked distrustfully at my green and silver tie.

~~~Break~~~

"Could you send this to Hermione."

The owl glared disdainfully at me, waving its tail at me before swooping off.

~~~Break~~~

I sat in my room, door locked. What items I had not yet moved to the Slytherin dormitories laid on my bed, beside me.

" _Pack_ ," I said, waving my wand.

The items floated into my bag.

" _Unpack_ ," I said.

The items floated out.

" _Pack. Unpack_."

I grabbed an item out of the air, a notebook. With trembling fingers, I opened the cover.

Charred pieces of paper fluttered out onto my lap. I picked it up, and instantly regretted it. An image of my horrible drawing skills, and, much worse, a reminder of my long-gone family.

I stood, placing the papers on the desk. Carefully, I straightened them, placing the torn pieces back together.

" _Repairo_ ," I said, merging the pieces back together, and carefully drying off my face.

I took a fresh sheet of parchment out, placing it on the desk beside the newly repaired but still charred sheet of paper. I rested the tip of my wand against the parchment and carefully closed my eyes.

Slowly, an image of the blank parchment appeared in my mind's eye. I carefully manipulated the image into a scene I had seen nearly a year ago, but which I would not ever forget: the entire family standing in front of our new house.

" _Multicorfors_ ," I said.

The surface of the parchment changed color to form an image of that scene.

I took out another sheet of parchment. On it, I wrote a dedication to those whom I had failed.

_In remembrance:_

_Richard and Margaret Anderson_

_Katherine Anderson_

_Hermione Granger_

And far, far below, I wrote three words.

A short list of only four names. I hope that I will have no cause to add any more.

~~~Break~~~

Dear Mom and Dad,

Last night, a troll broke into the castle and attacked one of my friends. It seems that Magic cannot heal brain damage any more than modern medicine can.

I know what I'm doing for my career now. I'm going to protect people, like I couldn't with you.

I'm sorry.

William


	17. Chapter 17

"Is it true?"

I looked up from my book. Across the squat table, Malfoy and his entourage stood glowering down at me.

"Is what true?" I asked nervously.

"Are you a blood-traitor? A mudblood lover?"

I shook my head.

"Why would you think that?" I asked.

Malfoy pulled out a folded sheet of parchment and threw it on the table.

"That," he said, "is a letter you wrote to Hermione Granger. A self-declared mudblood."

Ah. That.

"Is there any way I can convince you," I asked carefully, "or have you already made up your mind?"

~~~Break~~~

"Good morning."

Silence met my greeting.

I sat down, picking up my book.

The chairs near me emptied, with no one willing to go against Malfoy, and by extension, his father.

I sighed. For the first couple of days, the silence was a welcome reprieve from the daily hustle. But after one, two weeks, it wears on a person.

Having made little headway into my book, I stood.

And smiled.

"I'll be heading off to breakfast, I think," I said, walking off. Behind me, muffled mumblings filled the silence between my footsteps.

As the door to the common room closed, I sighed again, running my fingers through my hair.

"Three weeks," I said. "Three weeks until Christmas. Twice that since Halloween. Since Hermione. God, when's she going to wake up?"

I stared, eyes unfocused, at the pages of my book, before slamming it shut in disgust.

"Hey."

I turned around.

"Harry Potter," I said.

"William Anderson," he answered. "Look, there's no need for you to beat yourself up over Hermione. It wasn't–"

"Like fuck, it wasn't my fault," I spat.

Harry recoiled at my sudden anger.

"If you'd stop moping for just a moment and think!" he shouted. "You're not God. Everybody, yourself included – as much as you'd hate to admit it, is an imperfect person. And nobody can know about and prevent every bad thing from happening!"

"I can," I said bitterly. "Back home, I always would."

"You expect too much of yourself," said Harry.

"And you expect too little. Of both me and you."

I sighed.

"Holidays are coming up," I said, blatantly changing the subject. "About a week or so. You going home?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

Huh.

"Same, as much as I wish otherwise."

I watched his expression carefully as I said my next words.

"Wouldn't your family miss you?"

I wince inwardly, suddenly reminded that no, my family can't miss me.

"No," said Harry tersely.

"I suppose you better get to the Gryffindor table before the rest of my house comes in and sees us talking. Bad enough they think I'm a "mudblood lover"."

"But aren't you–"

"Yes, now go."

_But aren't you muggleborn yourself?_

~~~Break~~~

One week. Minutes turn to hours and the hours into days, and before I knew it, the week was up.

I woke in an empty common room. For all the usual noise, the contrast of the silence had put me off-kilter.

Malfoy was gone, as was Nott, Greengrass, and most of the other Slytherins.

The day was a blur of reading and breakfast and reading and lunch and–

My head hit the table. I needed something to end that horrible boredom.

Let's try free-form transfiguration. Ok, now how about doing multiple charms at the same time. Not possible? Or not yet? How about writing with my left hand?

Days blurred together.

~~~Break~~~

I sat up in bed, yawning. Blearily, I drifted through my morning routine, before I trudged upstairs to breakfast.

Ignoring my surroundings – Christmas decorations had been up for the past week or so – I sat down for breakfast. The sky in the Great Hall showed the stars.

Yawning, I scooped some food onto my plate.

The door opened just next to me.

"Mornin'," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

"Happy Christmas, William," answered Harry.

I blinked drowsily.

"Oh. That's today?"

I thought for a moment.

"Oh. Yeah, that's today. Uh… Merry Christmas, Harry. Ron."

I nodded at the redhead behind Harry, then turned back to breakfast.

"Actually," I said, considering for a moment. "Would you be fine if I were to move over to your table?"

Ron scowled, but Harry nodded.

I smiled, and picked up my plate.

"I'm kinda glad to see that not all Gryffindors dislike Slytherins on principle," I said offhandedly as I settled into my new seat.

I glanced pointedly at Ron.

"Merry Christmas," I repeated.

~~~Break~~~

Ron yawned as we exited the Great Hall.

"So how's life been since we last talked?" I asked.

"Good," muttered Ron.

"Great!" exclaimed Harry. "Well, except for the hundreds of fans, and Snape, of course."

I nodded.

"I suppose he's a bit unfair to you – and yes, that is the mother of all understatements."

For next few moments, we walked in silence.

"Hundreds of fans?" I asked.

Harry sighed.

"I can imagine how annoying that might be," I said. "Do you have a way to avoid them?"

Harry stopped, turned to a nearby torch, and pulled it. To the left, the wall faded into invisibility.

"Yes," he said. "Secret passages like this, and –  _lumos_ –"

We walked through the passageway, and it closed behind us.

"This."

Harry pulled out a silvery-looking cloak.

"Harry," hissed Ron.

"You know," I hesitated, "if that's some secret or something, you can just put it away and I'll pretend you never took it out."

Harry shook his head.

"It's an invisibility cloak," he said. "It makes things invisible. Obviously."

I nodded.

"Got it for Christmas?" I asked.

He nodded.

A thought struck me.

"I didn't get either of you anything. I'm so sorry; as you saw, Christmas slipped my mind completely."

I peered closer at the cloak.

"The material is interesting, too," I commented. "Really smooth. But I would suppose it's not perfect – you can knock into things, and it won't help if you leave it behind or take it off. Then there's the noise – there's a spell to block that, though."

My brow furrowed.

"I haven't heard of invisibility cloaks before – are the common?"

Ronald snorted, then paused for a moment.

"No, not really," he said.

"Anyways," I said, "happy holidays! I'm afraid I'll have to go – I have a project which I find rather pressing."

As I left the passageway, I could hear Ronald.

"Wait, don't classes only start next week?"


	18. Chapter 18

I had a project which I find rather pressing, or so I said.

The cool March air bit through my clothes as I sat in my personal room, my back warmed by a blazing fire. I stared morosely at the closest thing I had to a picture of my family. My mother and father standing behind my sister and I, the two cats in our arms, and a fireplace blazing to try warm the cold December air.

All imagined, all  _fake_ , but it was an image burned into my eyelids.

I turned.

A candle burned on the windowsill, its lone flame flickering as it struggled against the wind. Beside it, three candles, extinguished.

My face twisted in what I thought might have looked grotesque, but I didn't care. Slowly, I turned to see my desk. Upon it, a picture of my family, and a list of four names.

"Why?"

My voice broke awkwardly halfway through the word.

I collapsed into my chair.

Behind me, unnoticed, the window closed.

"No more."

And the candle burned.

~~~Break~~~

"What makes a person that person?"

Harry looked at me, surprised by the sudden question.

"What is the difference between people? What makes you, you, and not me?"

"We're from different families?" guessed Ron.

"That is a difference. But I was talking in general – would being in the same family make us the same person? No."

"Our bodies are different?" guessed Harry.

"Closer, I think. I'll grant even identical twins are both unique, different, and distinct. But if we are different people  _because_  our bodies are different, then, say, what happens if you lose an arm? A leg?"

"We think differently?" guessed Ron.

"Exactly!" I exclaimed. "We think differently. Everyone does. And because we think differently, we act differently, and so we are different.

"I have a question. Ron, what happens if one day, Harry gets hit by a spell that makes him act exactly like Malfoy? Would he still be Harry, or would he become someone else?"

"I guess," said Ron, "he'd act different until the spell is fixed. But you're saying that he'd not be him until the spell is fixed? That's nonsense!"

"If the spell can't be fixed?" I asked.

I looked across the room.

"One day you're out walking," I said. "And you meet someone. You have never met each other, but you become good friends. You'd agree that that friend would be a unique person, right?"

Ron nodded; Harry stared intently.

I sighed.

"Then one day, a wizard comes by and casts a spell on your friend. You see, before he was your friend, he had his memory changed. He was transfigured, too. Now, the wizard untransfigures your friend, removes the memory charm, and casts a new memory charm to remove your friend's false memories, and his memories of having met you.

"As it turns out, your friend was Malfoy."

Ron scoffed, "There's no way that I could make friends with Malfoy."

"But he wasn't Malfoy; he acted completely differently, looked completely different, et cetera. He acted as nice as any of your friends."

"He's still Malfoy," argued Ron.

"You don't get what I'm saying, do you?" I asked.

"I understand, and I disagree!" exclaimed Ron. "Even if Malfoy were to act differently; even if he were to believe he was someone else, his soul would still be the same!"

"What does the soul mean between, say, your mother and Malfoy? If Malfoy's father had hypothetically permanently transfigured and spelled your mother to become his hypothetically nonexistent son, then would it matter to you that their souls are the same, if you went home and found your mother no longer there?"

The argument continued on and on, growing louder, angrier, and yet throughout it, it seemed we were yelling past each other.

Perhaps five minutes of intense shouting and screaming later, Harry eventually got up the courage to stand between us. He pulled Ron away from the argument, and I was left there, the hot flames of my rage cooling to simmering ambers and molten iron that burned nonetheless.


	19. Chapter 19

Three days passed, and the molten iron and ambers of my rage cooled into dusty ash, and cold steel as sharp as a knife.

Though I might not have raged at Ronald Weasley when we met, it was made clear as ice to him that I  _did not welcome his presence_. It seemed that he too did not enjoy my company; indeed anger seemed to burn as cold as shards of ice within him.

Harry, my friend Harry, ever the peacemaker, was caught between us, his two friends. And, though he hoped to keep us both as his friends, he only seemed to drift apart from us both.

In the end, though, he succeeded in bringing us back together, both of us united by our shared friendship with him. But I would not forget, and, I think, neither will Ronald.

Harry seemed to feel the mutual antipathy, and so one fine spring day, when he came to speak to me, he came alone.

"Harry," I greeted as the door to my room creaked open.

"William," Harry replied.

He stood quietly for a moment; I turned to realise that he was looking past me, at the picture on my desk.

"My family," I said softly, as he came to stand beside me. "They–"

My voice caught on the word, and I continued with a wavering voice.

"They were all I could have wanted."

"I'm sorry," Harry offered.

I sighed.

"I suppose I'm glad I didn't bring Ron here," said Harry. "His tact is lacking."

"Yes," I said, "almost as much as mine."

On impulse, I wrapped an arm around his back. He stiffened for a moment, but slowly relaxed.

"You know," I said, "I could still visit them."

I nodded at the picture.

"It's been so long since we've met; they won't know me. Just thirty seconds, and I'm cut out of their life. No trace of me left, either.

"They'll be completely different people. Mockeries of their former selves. They won't know me!" I sobbed.

For a moment, silence.

"They won't know me."

I sighed, my arm leaving Harry's back. I took a moment to compose myself, wiping my face and rubbing my forehead. Then I turned.

"I– I think I'll want to take a walk. Get some fresh air."

Getting to my feet, I pushed the chair back and turned to the door.

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Actually, about that…"

~~~Break~~~

Harry knocked on the door.

I stood behind him. It was merely prudence, after all, the resident giant did not seem at all fond of Slytherins.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Harry," said Mr. Hagrid, his thick accent obscuring his words. "Who's yer– oh."

He stopped suddenly, having noticed my green and silver tie.

I sighed. Though I knew nearly three quarters of the school were prejudiced against us Slytherins, I had hoped that the faculty could  _at least_  be unobvious about it, if not actively trying to resolve the prejudice. Where was the professionalism?

"Hello, sir," I said. Always best to be polite, especially to adults, school staff, and people with muscles  _larger than me_.

"I'm William Anderson," I continued, "pleased to have made your acquaintance."

I offered a hand. Mr. Hagrid stared at it as if it were a venomous snake, before glancing at Harry.

" _Yeh sure about this?_ " he asked in the most unobvious whisper I have ever heard.

Considering my sister, that was saying a lot.

I winced at the sudden thought that flicked through my head.

Harry whispered something back to Hagrid, causing him to frown, but grudgingly allow me in.

Ron, already seated at the table, turned to look at me. His eyes mine for a moment, before he quickly turned away.

"If you already know about  _it_ —" Mr. Hagrid began.

"—Then I know it is something best discussed and seen behind closed windows and drawn curtains," I concluded. "Pardon me, Mr. Hagrid, but you're the most unsubtle person I've met."

Hagrid glanced back.

"It's true," muttered Ron, already standing to close the windows on his side of the table.

I turned. The window was closed, but there were no curtains, nor a rod to hang them on. Quickly improvising, I extinguished the candle next to the window, then tied my jacket up on a couple of hanging items.

Unsatisfied, I grabbed a couple pieces of heavy… somethings, and used them to weigh down the bottom of my jacket to the bottom of the windowsill.

Then I turned to the raging fireplace.

"At least you had the foresight to hide it," I said.

I sat at the table.

"It'll be hatching today, I hear?" I said. "Congratulations, Mr. Hagrid."

Carefully, Mr. Hagrid, now wearing a pair of heavy gloves, pulled a splotched brown orb from the pot. We all leaned in closer, and I could hear weak scratching noises from the inside.

Slowly, the outer layer of the leathery egg began to crack, before it tore open altogether.

I stared at the baby dragon. It was tiny, and drenched in the fluid inside the egg. As I watched, the fluid began to evaporate off it, leaving it dry.

With its wings wrapped around it, it looked quite like a crumpled black umbrella.

I looked at its tiny body, and its comparatively huge wings. Each inch of it was jet black, save its eyes, which were glowing orange. Its snout was long, longer than I would have guessed.

"Beautiful," I breathed.

It sneezed, throwing sparks onto its table.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hagrid," I said. "Now, I hate to have to say this, but considering how fast he or she will outgrow this hut, I think it best if he or she were let into the forest as soon as possible. Wouldn't want her to get cramped, after all."

~~~Break~~~

In the end, I ended up volunteering my time to assist in taking care of the newborn Norbert. Mr. Hagrid agreed, the hut was too small for a dragon to live in.

I left Mr. Hagrid's home first, as Harry and Ron had something else to discuss.

"Malfoy," I greeted loudly.

"Anderson. Consorting with the savage?"

"Oh, I'm sure all primitive minds deride those who scare them," I said. "Surely, as the noble and enlightened individuals we are, we would be above such pettiness, no?"

We departed towards the castle.

"What brought you out there?" I asked.

"I might ask the same of you," retorted Malfoy.

"Ah," I said. I thought for a moment for a suitable excuse. "Mr. Hagrid, being the gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts, is nowhere close to being the most important man in the castle. Close in rank to Mr. Filch, I would guess. But he's the easiest for me to manipulate.

"He doesn't like Slytherins, but he does like Harry Potter. And I've known Mr. Potter for quite some time. I simply asked him to introduce us, and I now have what is publicly a legitimate relationship with a member of staff."

"You have Professor Snape," pointed out Malfoy.

"All Slytherins have Professor Snape," I dismissed. "I very much doubt he has time for most of us; he his a very busy man. I have Professor Snape to the same extent that most Slytherins have, and I know all the professors as well as any other first year student. But right now, more connections, I think, is better."

Malfoy nodded approvingly as we stepped into the castle.

"Well reasoned."

A few seconds later, he asked, "How much of that was  _post hoc_?"

"A good Slytherin prepares his excuses beforehand," I said.


	20. Chapter 20

"Hermione!"

At long last, Madam Pomfrey let me into the Hospital Wing to visit Hermione.

"William?"

Apparently, because Hermione was awake, she didn't feel the need to keep "suspicious characters" like myself out.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"I— has it really been six months?"

"Yes," I said sadly, sitting beside her. "It has been. God, I can't imagine how you feel; exams are next week and you missed most of the school year!"

Hermione sighed morosely.

"With any luck, I can catch up over summer."

"No doubt you'll pass the theory; I still remember you boasting about how you memorise all your schoolbooks."

She shoved me playfully.

"Anyways, how are you feeling?" I asked. "Any muscle atrophy?"

"Surprisingly none," she said. "Magical treatments are magical; who would have known?"

For a moment, we were both still, giving the words the respect they deserved.

I managed it for nearly five seconds, before a smile started to curl on my face. Too late, I wrestled my face into compliance, but Hermione had already seen it. She grinned, and a moment later, so did I.

Then we burst out laughing together.

"I'm glad you're back."

And then I hugged her.

~~~Break~~~

Indeed, exams were only a week away, and how fast did that week fly by. I spent most of it with Hermione, trying to get her spellcasting up to par.

Then exams hit, and I sat in the examination hall, surrounded by my classmates, and frantically trying to write my answers neatly, with a quill, before time ran out.

I managed to complete the first, or at least I hoped I did, before the time ran out and we were rushed to the tests for another subject. The next few hours went by in a blur of parchment and quills.

Then I sat down for a quick lunch, and back to the exams.

The practical examinations were unlike anything I had ever done. Where else would you be asked to make a pineapple dance?

Transfiguration was the last exam. And after the grueling written portion, and a practical portion oriented about transforming a mouse into a snuffbox (no whiskers), I was finally free for the day.

Stretching out my cramped hand, I began walking down to the lake to relax. It seemed that a few Gryffindors had the same idea; I began turning to find a different location to avoid their prejudice.

Seriously, just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't mean I can't be muggleborn!

Then, I realised who it was along the path.

"Hermione!" I called. "You took the exams after all?"

She turned back, waving at me in greeting.

"I did; they were much easier than I expected," said she. "At least, considering that I missed most of the school year."

I caught up with her.

"Any difficulty with the practicals?" I asked.

"The snuffbox," she said. "I managed a rather plain one, but I haven't really practiced Transfiguration."

I snorted. She had spent the entire week practicing her spellwork nonstop. I swear, I saw a couple of third year spells mixed in there.

"I'll assume you did well on the theory," I said. "After all, nobody else memorised their entire coursework before even arriving, but I'll wager most of them will pass."

She smiled.

~~~Break~~~

By the time we had reached a suitable tree to rest under, Hermione's smile had faded.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I think I'll return to the castle now; bye!"

"Why?" I asked. After a moment without a response, I shouted a quick, "Bye," back to her.

I took a seat under the tree. I basked in the late afternoon sun.

_CERBERUS, DARKNESS, AND THE UNDERWORLD. TRIALS AND TERRORS. PUZZLES, A MIRROR, AND JANUS._

_A HUT_

I collapsed backwards, clutching at my head. For a moment, white-hot pain overwhelmed my senses.

Then the moment passed, and I breathed deeply.

When I had at last felt my strength return to my legs, I stood.

There was a visit to be made.


	21. Chapter 21

"It's tonight," declared Harry, as the footsteps of Professor McGonagall faded away. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note; I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

A moment later, I saw Snape rounding the corner.

"Hi, Professor Snape," I said loudly, waving.

Instantly, I could hear scuffling as Harry and Ron retreated.

"Mr… Anderson, was it?"

I nodded.

"What are you doing inside on a fine day such as this?"

"I was getting a headache outside," I said. "Probably should be getting something to drink. Thanks for your concern, though!"

~~~Break~~~

The portrait opened silently, with no one visible behind it.

"Good evening," I said.

There was a short rustling sound, and Harry's head appeared.

"William!" he hissed.

"What's this about a stone?" I asked nonchalantly.

"You wouldn't—"

"You believe Professor Snape is going to try to steal the Philosopher's stone tonight. You are going to try stop him. Am I wrong?" I asked.

I shall not allow my actions to communicate either the presence or the location of the Philosopher's Stone in this castle to those who are not already aware of both. They already knew that it was involved, and they knew it was behind a trapdoor in the third floor corridor.

At Harry's reluctant shake of his head, I said, "Then I'll help. I'll follow you, either under that marvelous cloak of yours, or outside it. Your choice.

After a bit of hesitation, he ordered "Get in."

~~~Break~~~

I reached forward for the door. Behind me, Harry, Ron, and Neville had drawn their wands.

It opened, leading into the statue-filled room, where the Zeno Trap held reaching the end was impossible.

Silently, we walked forward.

Halfway to the end of the room, l turned.

"Harry," I said. "This room used to be the first defence!"

He nodded. "Then someone's already gone through."

We reached the end of the room. The door slightly open.

"More proof," I whispered, pushing it open wider. It emitted a loud creak.

Then, from behind the door came a loud growl. I took a quick peep inside; it was a three-headed dog.

"Cerberus," I said. "Ancient Greek myth. There are two people who defeated him. The first was Heracles, the son of Zeus. He was the strongest man, who as a baby, strangled two constrictors sent to kill him. He wrestled Cerberus and won. I don't suppose any one of us is the strongest man alive?"

I looked back at the shaking heads.

"The second man was Orpheus. He played a lyre, a sort of musical instrument, until Cerberus slept."

"I have a flute," offered Harry.

"Hmm," I said, dragging my wand through the air and releasing a pure whistling sound.

Then, recalling a song from so long go, I sang.

_"Nighttime softens, heightens each sensation,_  
_Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination.  
_ _Silently the senses abandon their defences._

_"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour,_  
_Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender._  
_Turn your face away from the garish light of day!_  
_Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light,  
_ _And listen to the music of the night._

_"Close your eyes, and surrender to your darkest dreams,_  
_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before_  
_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!  
_ _And you'll live as you've never lived before…"_

Softly, the low rumbling of snoring came through the door.

"Quickly," I said.

Then, the dog began to stir.

"Lift the trapdoor," I said, before quickly returning to my song.

_"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you,_  
_Hear it; feel it, secretly possess you._  
_Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind,_  
_In this darkness which you know you cannot fight:  
_ _The darkness of the music of the night."_

Then, as one, we jumped into the gaping hole of the trapdoor.


	22. Chapter 22

For a few short moments, the wind rushed my face, and I enjoyed the sensation of freefall.

Then we landed, ending up on something soft and squishy.

"Good thing this plant stuff is here," commented Ron.

A moment later, Neville replied, "It's Devil's Snare. A carnivorous constrictor plant, it strangles its prey, then consumes the remains."

I could already feel tendrils wrapping around my legs, neck, and one of my arms.

"And how do we escape?" I asked, ripping away the one around my neck.

"They prefer dark and damp places, so fire and—"

"Incendio!"

Instantly, we dropped through the strangling vines.

"Quick," I shouted, pulling Harry towards a stone passageway.

The gentle drip of water and our rhythmatic footsteps were the only sounds I could hear. The floor of the passageway sloped gently downwards.

"I hear something," whispered Ron.

Moments later, I heard it too — a metallic rustling and clinking. A dim light appeared in front of us.

Just as we were about to enter into the next room, I put my arms out, blocking everyone.

"Look," I said.

Above us, metal wings flapped.

"If those things attack us, I have no doubt that we'd be killed — exsanguinated — in short order," I explained.

A short moment of silence, then…

"The invisibility cloak!" exclaimed Harry.

"That can't work," said Ron. "Can it?"

"We'll just try it," I said. "If, as you believe, it is indeed Voldemort trying to return, then not stopping him leads just as surely to our deaths."

We covered ourselves with the cloak, then slowly, ever so carefully, we crossed the room. Without issue, we reached the door opposite.

"Now what?" asked Harry.

I tried the door. "It's locked. Alohomora."

The door failed to open.

"Ah well," I said. "Any other ideas?"

"Maybe the birds," suggested Neville, after a moment.

After another moment of silence, Harry spoke up.

"Keys! They're keys — winged keys!", he said.

"And broomsticks," I pointed.

"But we can't fly under the Cloak," pointed out Neville.

"I suppose that's a risk we'll have to take," I said.

Then I frowned.

"I'll volunteer to test it first," I said, and without giving anyone a chance to argue, ducked out from under the Cloak.

"William!" came three simultaneous shouts.

Then silence; the winged keys ignored me.

"…It's safe guys," I said.

They removed the Cloak, and we walked over to the broomsticks.

"Harry," I said, "you're the Seeker. We'll flank it, you try catching it."

I grabbed onto a broom, Ron following.

"Neville," said Harry. "Are you sure?"

Neville nodded, mounting a broom himself.

~~~Break~~~

It took nearly five minutes, but finally, Harry pinned the key against the wall with a nasty crunch. Quickly, we dove to the floor, and Harry stuffed the key into the lock.

He turned it with a click, and immediately, the key escaped, taking flight despite its battered wings.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

The next room was so dark I couldn't see anything, but the moment we entered, light flooded it.

We stood at the edge of a giant chessboard, behind the black chesspieces.

Across the room, facing us, were the faceless white chesspieces. I shivered at the disconcerting sight.

"Ok," I said. "I'll grab the broomsticks; we'll fly over them."

The moment I turned, the door slammed close behind us.

"Or not," I commented.

"Now what do we do?" wondered Harry.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room."

And indeed, behind the white chesspieces, I could see another door.

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

"Or only one of us will be chessmen," I said. "Ron, you take the place of the King, and when we win, the rest of us will just walk across. Or maybe we don't have to — maybe we can play from off the board, like in normal chess."

"No," said Neville. "If we could play from off the board, then white would have already moved."

The black king turned, marching off the board.

"White moves first," I muttered, watching a pawn slide across the board.

"Pawn to E-5," shouted Ron.

Nervously, Harry, Neville and I watched as piece after piece were violently knocked out and dragged off the board. If we lost, would the same happen to Ron?

"Nearly," Ron muttered. "Lemme think… Bishop to E-3, checkmate."

For a moment, the arena was still, the dust settling slowly over the captured chesspieces. Then, the white king moved. It lifted its crown off his head, and tossed it like a frisbee to the feet of the bishop.

Slowly, the chesspieces parted, and we burst into applause.

We dashed to the opposite end of the chessboard, the pieces rumbling back into position. The door creaked as we pushed it open.

I wretched. The worst smell I had ever smelt penetrated my nose. Peeking inside, we saw a gigantic troll, knocked out with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we don't have to fight it," commented Harry.

Taking care to not wake the troll, we entered the next room, rushed to the door, and immediately exited. As we stepped over the threshold, a deep purple fire erupted behind us.

I staggered backwards, the heat of it nearly unbearable.

On the other side of the room, black flames obscured the other door.

In the middle of the room was a line of bottles, and a roll of parchment.

_"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,"_  I read,

_Two of us will help, which ever you would find_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead._

_"Two among our number hold only nettle wine_

_Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore_

_To help you in your choices, we give you these clues four:_

_"First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second different are those who stand at either end_

_But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

_"Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."_

"A logic puzzle," I concluded. "Right, I won't spend too much time on it. We know someone came through this puzzle already; the Zeno trap was disabled, the door was open, and the troll was knocked out. If the person turned back, we'd have met him, or the doors would be closed to give the illusion of no one having entered. If the person stayed here, we'd see him. Therefore, the person went on. Get me?"

Harry, Ron, and Neville nodded.

"So that means he must have taken the bottle to go onwards. He succeeded, otherwise we'd see his body somewhere. You don't see his body anywhere, do you?" I asked.

We took a moment to look around for a body.

"No body," I said. "That means he went forward, which means he drank the correct potion. Of all the potions, only one bottle is not full," I said, picking up the bottle. "Therefore, he took that potion, which is correct. QED."

I turned, passing the bottle to Harry.

"Good luck."

Harry downed the potion, shivered, then passed the bottle back. He plunged through the fire.

"Any idea how to get back?" Neville asked.

I placed the bottle back in place.

"That will take more time," I said. "But I know more. One, the intended thief would not want to be interrupted. Two, he could have drank the whole bottle if need be. Three, if he had drank the whole bottle, he would prevent anyone else from going through. Four, the bottle was half full. Therefore, he either did not drink the entire bottle, or..."

Neville interrupted, "Or he did drink it, but it refilled. But that isn't possible with potions."

"You can transport it from elsewhere, though," I pointed out. "In fact…"

Indeed, I could already see a few drops of the potion in the bottle.

"It's already refilling!"


	23. Chapter 23

"This bottle holds the potion to go back."

Neville nodded.

"But shouldn't we help Harry?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "We need to help him delay the thief until Dumbledore returns. There are two ways of doing that: one, slowing down the thief. And two—"

"—Getting Dumbledore back faster!" said Neville.

"Two people ought to go back," I said. "To make sure you manage to get out easily and safely. We're first years; we can't delay an adult for long, so getting Dumbledore back takes priority. Also, staying to help delay the thief is more dangerous. I'll do that."

Ron opened his mouth.

"I swore an oath," I said. "I'll delay the thief; protect the stone."

"Fine," Ron said.

He and Neville took a sip from the bottle.

"Go quickly," I said.

I waited for a minute more, letting the potion that would permit me to progress return to the bottle, before drinking it all down.

Passing through the fire, I could not believe my eyes.

Harry held onto Professor Quirrell's face, as it bubbled and blistered.

"Depulso," I shouted, knocking Quirrell off Harry.

Then Quirrell turned, and I could see a face on the back of his bare head.

I charged down the stairs, knocking the wand from his hand.

"Kill him," screamed the face.

Without knowing if it meant me, or the now unconscious Harry, I charged the man again, stomping on a foot, and kicking him between the legs.

_A SWING OF AN ARM, THE SOUND OF FLESH ON FLESH_

Quirrell recovered remarkably quickly, swinging his arm at my head; I ducked.

_A KICK_

I dodged; a moment later, Quirrell's foot passed through the air where my foot was a moment ago.

"A seer!" shouted the face.

_PUNCH, KICK, GRAB, FALL_

A moment later, I punched at him, he kicked, and I brought my punching hand down to grab at the leg.

I pulled up, and he fell backwards down the stairs, where he lay unmoving. A black whisp rose from the body, flying off as Quirrell seemed to deflate. My eyes widened, and I rushed forward.

Then, I changed my mind, turning and rushing to Harry's side.

"Harry!" I shouted.

He didn't respond, and I quickly felt at his wrist for a heartbeat.

Then his neck.

Then his chest.

Then I sighed in relief, sitting up, and catching a peek of something red in his pocket.

I pulled it out.

"The Philosopher's Stone," I muttered. "All this trouble over such a small thing."

I released a deep sigh of relief, then turned.

Quirrell lay there on the stairs, looking deflated; I rushed to his side.

I checked at his wrist for a heartbeat, then wretched again as his hand dissolved into a wet red mess.

~~~Break~~~

When Dumbledore entered the room, I was still sitting by the side of Quirrell's body.

"Professor," I greeted. "He's dead."

Dumbledore glanced down, seeing the small puddle of vomit a short distance away.

"I see," he said coldly.

"Some sort of black thing came out of him and flew away, and he just… deflated."

He adjusted his glasses, taking a closer look at the body, before straightening.

"I see," he repeated slowly. "My apologies, my boy. _Mobilicorpus_."

Together, we walked from the room.


	24. Epilogue

"Professor," I said. Or rather, I tried to say; what I really said sounded more like, "P-gah."

This was my fifth attempt at trying to return the Philosopher's Stone to Professor Dumbledore, and the fifth attempt which had been foiled by that blasted oath.

_I shall not allow my actions to communicate either the presence or the location of the Philosopher's Stone in this castle to those who are not already aware of both, but not to the extent to be forced into positive action to protect such knowledge._

I couldn't think of any loopholes; how could I, when I had worded the oath to close any that I could think of.

There was no way I could simply leave the Stone in a place where he could find; I could tell neither him nor anyone else, its location, whether through sign language, pantomiming, writing, speech, and everything else I could think of. I couldn't get an animal to bring it to him, I couldn't give it to an animal with the intent to let it bring it elsewhere, where I would be free of the oath. Even the castle grounds seemed to be part of the castle, and I dared not to venture into the Forbidden Forest.

Five days later, I sat in my room, and there the Philosopher's Stone sat, in a hollow piece of rock that I had transfigured for that purpose. If I could not give it to those whom I knew would keep it safe, I would not risk it coming into the hands of those who would be willing to steal.

Slytherin had won the house cup — barely, with Gryffindor in close second — after Dumbledore gave ridiculous amounts of points to the four of us who had ventured into the Third Floor Corridor to protect the Stone.

And I sat in my room as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the station, with a picture, a candle, a list of names, and a stolen stone which I could not return.

_A YELLOW EYE_

I'd best prepare; a storm's coming.


End file.
